


Beautiful Defiance

by Caeseria



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abduction, Aftercare, Begging, Bondage, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Consensual Non-Consent, Consensual Somnophilia, Crying, Dom Lance (Voltron), Dubious Consent, Edgeplay, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Hair-pulling, Hide and Seek, If you are not reading this on AO3 then my work has been stolen, Kidnapping, Kissing, Knifeplay, M/M, Mind Games, Mindfuck, No Blood, Objectification, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pet Names, Prostate Milking, Rape Roleplay, Restraints, Somnophilia, Sub Keith (Voltron), Top Lance (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2020-10-14 08:44:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20597951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caeseria/pseuds/Caeseria
Summary: Keith's contract as a simulator test pilot is finally coming to an end, and he needs to blow off some steam.  A friend hooks him up with The Blue Lion, an agency that specializes in fantasy realization – in particular, abduction and kidnapping roleplay. Keith leaps at the chance to experience something he's wanted to do for a long time.  However, when he's abducted one night in an alley by a stranger looking for inside information, Keith isn't sure if this is actually a game or not.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based very loosely on an idea behind the movie _The Game_.
> 
> I have pre-loaded all the tags on this because of the nature of the story. I want people to be aware exactly what is on the tin before they go in and read anything.
> 
> That said, please note the tags. This story contains _CONSENSUAL non-consent_. It will feature heavily in a future chapter. If you have read this far, noted the tags, and then continue to read, I am assuming you understand what you are getting into. You are responsible for your own self-care and trigger management. 
> 
> Thank you, and, with that, do enjoy <3
> 
> *If you are not reading this on A03, then my work has been stolen and is being distributed without my permission.*

Keith is pleasantly exhausted, body tired from his evening workout at the gym. The air has a slight chill to it, especially after his shower, and he wishes he'd worn his jacket. He's still got a twenty minute walk to his apartment, so he pulls out his phone, pushes in his earbuds, and pulls up a playlist.

Excitement is starting to build, low in his stomach. The weekend is here at last, and with it, the end of this damned contract with Galra. And with the official end of his contract comes what he's really looking forward to, some vacation, and also the little matter of blowing off some steam by allowing himself to be kidnapped. It's all above board (as much as kinks go, anyway!) and he's hired an agency that comes highly recommended. This is what they do. They kidnap people for a living, give them a good time, and then pack them off home, hopefully a little less stressed than they were before. Keith can already feel low-grade arousal starting to tug at his belly, the anticipation building with each day that passes. He doesn't know when the abduction is going to happen, only that it will sometime next week.

He turns the corner, looks up briefly as he selects music, and starts walking down the street. Five minutes later his body has that pleasant after-workout burn going again as his muscles warm up. He crosses the road, ducks into a side street, and keeps walking, humming under his breath to the song. Looks like the street lights are out in the area, along with the large digital signboard he can usually see over on Third Street. _Weird; maybe there's some kind of power outage on the dockside of the city, _he thinks. He gets almost a third of the way down the side street before he hears a sharp scuffing sound behind him. This is why he only wears one earbud at a time – it's late at night and he's _not_ stupid. He can also defend himself pretty damn well, which is why he's not too concerned when he spins around to confront the person approaching him.

Okay, so now maybe he is a _little_ concerned. His pursuer is a tall, lanky guy wearing a zipped-up hoodie, and he has a black bandana across his lower face. It's almost impossible to pick out any of his features at all. The guy looks relaxed, like he thinks he's got an easy mark in Keith. 

"You picked the wrong guy to try to rob, asshole," Keith snarls, pulling out his earbud and pocketing the cord, along with his phone. "But if you want to try, go ahead." He shifts position into a basic defensive form, bracing for the challenge, curious to see if the guy is going to back off. If he was smart he would.

Instead, the guy tilts his head, as if he's sizing Keith up. His posture doesn't change from that relaxed stance he has and that lack of concern has Keith's pulse picking up uncomfortably as he feels the adrenaline start to kick in, like it does before a sparring match.

Keith's almost not surprised to see the guy raise a small pistol, although he was kinda hoping it wasn't going to go down like this. Should he try to come at the guy and fight, or try to avoid it altogether?

Keith doesn't want to get shot; it's never been part of his long term retirement plan. He'd already walked a third of way down this little side street before he’d stopped and turned to confront this guy; his potential mugger is blocking the nearest way out. Go for the side alley, then? Yeah, there's an alley not ten feet away. Good.

Before Keith can tense, or put his escape into motion, there's the sound of a muffled shot going off, and then a sharp, stabbing pain in his thigh. Keith's knee buckles, and he staggers a little, forcing himself not to drop to one knee like his body wants him to. If the guy gets him on the ground it'll be game over. Shocked, Keith looks back at the guy who's now lowering the gun. The guy makes a little huffing noise of amusement, watching as Keith looks back down at his leg. He's been shot, but it's not a bullet. It's a _dart_.

It takes a quick second for that to sink in, along with an insidious, spreading numbness in his leg. It's a fucking tranq dart.

"Who are you?" Keith bites out, taking a step backward and pulling the dart free, then testing his weight on his leg. Confusion is coursing through Keith's mind, along with the growing numbness in his body. He's got to make a decision, and quickly. This is days too early for his actual _scheduled_ abduction – he almost wants to laugh at that, because, seriously? So, is this guy for real? Is this a real robbery attempt? Or is the company he hired that fucking good that they'd begin early? Surely they'd give him some kind of sign, albeit subtle, so that Keith would know this was fake?

"What do you want from me?" Keith bites his lip, pulling himself upright and clenching his fist around the dart. Maybe he can use it as a weapon? 

The guy takes a step toward Keith. He moves with feline grace; a true predator. This guy moves like… like someone in the _military_ would. This man is a soldier; a silent killer. Keith's heartrate skyrockets at the implication that this might very well be the real deal. He also knows that a rising heartrate's a fucking bad thing because it's going to push whatever he's been injected with into his bloodstream that much quicker.

"I want what you know, Keith Kogane," the man purrs out, tapping his forehead, and _oh shit_, that voice. Smooth like honey, and sweet. The kind of voice that you want to lull you to sleep with whispered promises. "I want to hurt you until you tell me what I want to know. And I'll enjoy doing it."

Keith feels both a stab of very real fear ratchet through his body, along with a hard jolt of want, of pure desire. He's always known he's been wired wrong, but that's nothing he can help. It is what it is.

He stares the guy down, watching him tense as if to pounce, and then Keith books it. He runs.

He's gotta make the alleyway. He's not sure why that's important; just that he needs to. Goals. One goal first, then the next. Work through it.

He reaches the alley and turns down it, sliding slightly on the wet ground as he puts a hand out to balance on the wall. Fuck, he's losing mobility from the tranq dart. How long does he have until he's incapacitated? How long does it take these things to work? Keith runs, faster than he's ever run before, heartrate racing, gasping for breath, legs burning. He's slower than usual; body already tired from his workout, his reserves of energy are low. He can hear the harsh breath of the guy behind him, feel a phantom touch as he reaches out, and Keith twists to avoid the grab at his t-shirt. His pursuer uses that to his advantage; gets an arm around Keith's waist and takes them down. The guy takes most of the brunt of the fall, Keith falling onto him, driving his elbow into the guy's stomach with the full weight of his body behind it.

_Fuck_, he hears the guy wince out, and then Keith's got bigger problems. He’s got well over one hundred and seventy pounds of fit, tall male pinning him down, straddling his hips, pulling one wrist over his head. Despite the danger, Keith's libido kicks in hard, and he can feel his dick filling out, a blush staining his cheekbones. He bucks upward, trying to throw the guy off, and all the guy does is shift his center of gravity down along with his body weight, until Keith is pinned, pulling his other wrist up above his head to join the first. He pulls the dart Keith is still holding out of his clenched fingers and throws it to the side. He hears the guy laugh, watching Keith try to break free. 

"Well, aren't you interesting?" the guys says, rolling his hips down suggestively.

Keith gasps at the sudden friction on his dick. Fuck, Keith was hoping for too much if he thought the bastard above him wasn't going to notice he's a little turned on.

Long fingers tighten around his wrists, the guy's weight leaning forward above him. Keith feels a surge of adrenaline, because what the fuck is the guy gonna do next –

There's a cloth over his mouth suddenly, blocking his nose and mouth. A sweet, sickly smell hits when Keith takes a shuddering, instinctual breath. His eyes widen. Fuck, fuck. _Chloroform_. Keith bucks hard under the guy, panic sending a surge of adrenaline-fueled strength through Keith's body. He almost unbalances the guy, but he presses down with the hand gripping Keith's wrists, pushing all of his body weight onto those delicate bones. Keith winces, breathing in again, and that sweet smell fills his lungs as his eyes lid and his body starts to feel heavy. Keith can feel his body going lax, and there's fuck all he can do about it.

The guy chuckles, and this close, Keith can see his startling blue eyes beneath the shadow of his hood. "Sleep well, sweetheart," the guy coos, softly. "I'll see you soon."


	2. One

**Two weeks ago**

Keith's at his breaking point. He's got two weeks left in the contract with Galra, and then he's a free agent for the following couple of months. He fully expects Galra to wait it out and then coax Keith back with a hefty raise in contract money and the promise that it'll be less stressful next time. That's the problem with Galra, Keith thinks, and the problem with himself. Galra is one of those tech research facilities that work closely with the military. Keith is a simulator test pilot, and he has a lot of specific knowledge on the MFE-Ares planes Galra have been building. The program even has a code name: Operation Paladin.

Rumor had it that, about five years ago, a piece of alien tech crashed near Lake Huron, and that Galra got there first. Keith can almost believe it; Galra appears to have an almost-godlike hold over some of the military personnel that seem to breeze through once a quarter looking for status updates. 

And that's Keith's problem in a nutshell; he's become the foremost authority in his field, indispensable to Galra. So much so that they are quite happy to let him call the shots. Usually when Keith gets to this point – when the stress is ready to make him blow – he'll take off for a month into the outback or some wilderness up on what was once the Canadian Shield, and disappear for a while. When he comes back he's usually a little more stable, a little wild-eyed, and ready to be persuaded back by a somewhat contrite Iverson waving a large paycheck. 

The problem is that, this time, it's not gonna work. Disappearing into some godforsaken wilderness isn't going to cut it. Sometimes when he gets like this, he can hire an escort – one he trusts – to give him a little taste of what he needs, something he can't get from a one-night stand. When he's like this, Keith can't do vanilla. He needs something more. 

Which is why he's flipping a card over in his hand, threading it through his fingers over and over again as he sits on his couch, thinking through the connotations of what he's considering. The card was given to him by his escort – someone he considers to be almost a friend by this point. A friend who he feels most comfortable with when jacking off just doesn't do it anymore. When he needs hands on him, on his skin. When he needs flesh rather than silicone. When he's so frustrated that he can't think clearly.

Keith's way beyond that point now; with work deadlines approaching he's left it far too long and his urges, this itch he needs scratching, won't go away. His friend had pushed the card into his hand, patted him on his hip, and told Keith that this agency listed on the card came highly recommended; guaranteed to blow your mind. They specialize in games; sexual and non-. The hunt, the chase, catch and release. _Abduction_. Keith remembers how his heartrate had skyrocketed at the thought of it, how his heart races now with excitement at the thought that this is something he can have now, if he wants it. He wants it badly; needs to give up control to someone with skill, with the means to take Keith in their hands and mold him, turn him pliable until he's reborn in their image. 'Till he belongs to them for just long enough to reset Keith's tired and stressed mind. Keith has never felt safe or protected enough to let go of his hard edges, but this may go a long way to realizing that.

All he needs is a long weekend. Three nights. He owes himself this much.

He flips the card over in his hand. _The Blue Lion_, it says. It has a sort of futuristic neon blue line drawing of a lion on a black background with a website address below it and the words _Fantasy Realization_. Nothing else; nothing to signify how profound the next few minutes of Keith's life might turn out to be.

It won't hurt to take a quick look at their website, he thinks, to see how these guys operate. He can always change his mind, but unless he has some serious red flags go off, he already knows he's going to do it. 

Keith shifts to the edge of the couch, opens his laptop, and types in the address.

* * *

Lance is just locking up the shop when his phone pings with a new notification from the Blue Lion website. They have a new client. Lance flips the sign to 'closed' and walks through the shop, weaving past all the buckets of flowers, the arrangements ready to go for early delivery first thing tomorrow morning. With a final check, he switches off the lights and exits the store, into the small break room at the back. 

During the week, Lance, Hunk and Pidge front a florists shop: Gunderson's Floristry, which is usually fairly busy and creates a somewhat decent income. Outside of office hours, they operate as The Blue Lion; a high-end escort service specialising in _fantasy realization;_ fancy words for unusual types of play, the kind you can't get from a regular escort. 

Lance pours himself a cup of hours-old coffee and rubs his face; he's tired, but if they have a new client then they need to get organized as quickly as possible. He flops down onto the battered old loveseat they rescued a few years ago from a sidewalk, and docks his phone on the coffee table just in front of the sofa. Immediately a much larger screen pops up, hovering in the air, and Lance leans forward, elbows on his knees, to skim their new client’s file while he places a conference call with Pidge and Hunk. 

A new screen pops up next to the first when Hunk answers with a yawn and a tired "Yo, dude." 

It takes a few more minutes for Pidge to connect and when she does finally, she looks excited. "Did you see this guy's profile and application?" she exclaims without even bothering to say hello. "I think Christmas came early for Lance."

Lance blinks, focusing in on Pidge. "Huh?"

Pidge pushes her glasses up her nose and stares at Lance. "This contract ticks _every single one_ of your kink boxes, Lance. You'd be insane to pass on this one."

"Yeah, but isn't Hunk due to take the next one?" Lance is super curious now. Scratch that; he knows nothing about this client, but already his heartrate is increasing with Pidge's words, a thread of excitement coloring his cheeks.

Hunk knows Lance; he gives him a fond side-eye through their connection and grins. He knows what Lance likes. "This guy is all yours, Lance," he says.

Lance watches as Pidge clicks around with her mouse, pulling up the application. "Our client is Keith Kogane. Male, twenty-six years old. Wants to be kidnapped for a weekend, paid in full."

"A weekend? How many nights did he pay for?" Lance exclaims. Most people just want a single night, maybe four or five hours tops of kidnap roleplay before they are returned home, safe and sound.

Pidge fixes Lance with a shit eating grin. "He paid for three nights. He clearly needs to let off some steam." She's typing rapidly away on the keyboard now, pulling resources, creating files. This is why Pidge is charge of the computers and the electronics; she knows her stuff. "I'm waiting on confirmation of the medical packet he submitted with his application; once we have that we can decide on a date to commence the abduction."

Lance leans back into the couch and puts his feet on the coffee table, careful not to jog his phone and disconnect the call. He crosses his arms, watching Pidge working away. "So, why do you think this guy is gonna press all my buttons, Pidgey?" he asks. 

"Pull up his profile and read it properly," Pidge says, raising an eyebrow. 

Lance sits up, sips his coffee, and with a flick of his wrist, makes the profile screen a little larger. He scrolls past the personal information, focusing on his lists, and oh yeah, Keith Kogane ticks all his boxes; restraints, blindfolds, being manhandled, hair pulling, name calling and talking dirty just to start the list. The part Lance finds especially interesting is that Keith is unusual in that he wants to get off sexually; he _wants_ to be fucked. A lot of the clients Lance works with want the scare, the adrenaline rush of being kidnapped, because that's what gets them worked up, not the sex. Keith wants the whole deal, he wants the non-consensual roleplay aspect of it, and that's why Pidge is excited. She knows Lance likes directing this kind of game; he gets off on it as much as Keith will. 

Lance's mind is going a million miles an hour, thinking through possibilities and scenarios. 

"What do we actually know about this guy other than his submitted profile?" Hunk asks.

"Let me do a quick skim and see what we can find." Pidge cracks her knuckles and then starts tapping away at the keyboard. These days, nearly all information is online and available for access if you have someone talented enough to know where to look, and Pidge can do this kind of research in her sleep. She's trained as a communications and electronics expert at Garrison, and it's a matter of moments to pull information not usually accessible to the public. In under a minute she has Keith's daily work routine, the route he takes home, where he goes to the gym, what he does for fun, his hobbies, etc., and is able to compile an accurate picture of this guy – enough for them to pull off a successful kidnap and mind fuck.

Because Lance has already made up his mind; if he's going to do this, he wants to give Keith Kogane the best time of his life. He's going to play this game well enough that Keith won't realize it's a game at all. He wants Keith off center and confused, unsure if this is real or not. For that, they need a hook; they need information the general public wouldn't have access to. And that's why Pidge is considered a genius within her field.

Pidge is still scanning info. "This guy works for Galra on a contract basis. His current contract is due to end this Friday, which is probably why he signed up with us for a start the following weekend. Huh, interesting; he was enrolled at Galaxy Garrison and then got expelled."

"Wait, when was this guy at Garrison?" Hunk asks. "Do we know him?"

"Um, he was enrolled a couple of years before us. By the time we got pensioned out he was working for Galra," Pidge adds. "Weird, I can't find out what he does there, though."

Lance grins and sips on his coffee. "And I suppose a little something like a firewall isn't going to stop you?"

"Has it ever?" Pidge replies. Under the glare of the laptop screen she looks a little like an evil mastermind. There's the rapid click of keys; it’s too fast for Lance to keep up, so he waits, biting his lip. This guy – this Keith Kogane – he's going to be _fun_, Lance thinks. The extended play period the guy has signed up for is going to allow Lance to get a lot more in depth with the kidnap scenario. Keith will be the perfect foil for some of Lance's kinks; they're almost a flawless matchup. Quite a lot of the time, as a dom, Lance's persona is a mask, one carefully worn to suit the client's needs. Lance can already tell he's not going to have to fake much of Keith's weekend at all; Lance will be able to sink into this as much as he hopes Keith will.

"Okay, wow." Pidge interrupts Lance's musings with an interested puzzled noise. That sort of noise coming from Pidge is unusual, to say the least.

"Wow?" Hunk prods, glancing at Lance through the screen.

Pidge frowns, staring at the computer. "I've managed to get down a couple of sub levels in Galra's files, but if I code break anything else, it's going to flag."

"That's not a problem," Lance says. "We don't need to get _in_ their files; we just need to know something on Keith – anything really – we can use as a starting point that the public wouldn't have access to or that isn't common knowledge."

_This_ is the reason The Blue Lion comes so highly recommended by anyone who's been a client in the past. Pidge, Hunk and Lance have worked as a team for well over a decade; first as a three-man squad, communications expert, engineer, and sniper, completing two tours in the military. The floristry shop started out as a retirement gig; a way to dial things back and settle down. Still, their military training and experience is invaluable in the fantasy realization game; some would scoff at that, but planning is everything. You can't give your client a good experience unless you can pull a few surprises.

"Here's something," Pidge muses, mashing at the keyboard and then abruptly stopping. "_Operation Paladin_. Something to do with MFE-Ares, whatever that is."

"Doesn't matter," Lance says. "We don't need to know what it is, but it's just enough to fuck with our client's head. I want him off balance and unsure, enough to feed the game for a couple of days."

"We could always take him early," Hunk suggests. "If you want a good mind fuck, that would feed into it. This guy has signed up for an abduction within a specified set of days; if we do it early, that'll throw him off."

"How's his medical?" Lance asks Pidge. "If he even flags any mental warnings we can't fuck with him like that. I also need to know if he can take the adrenaline surge of a continuing mind fuck on top of a kidnap."

"I'll ask Allura to check out the medical," Pidge confirms. "Meantime I'm going to compile a breakdown of his habits, the routes he takes and so on. Plan where and when the best time to abduct him will be."

"Okay," Lance nods.

"I'll head up north to the Smythe House and get it ready," Hunk says. "Lance, have fun planning what you're gonna do to this guy."

Lance takes a sip of his coffee and raises an eyebrow. "I'm gonna do what every good dom does. Give his sub exactly what he wants. Keith wants to forget; he wants to relax." Lance pauses. "He doesn’t realize it, but by signing up for this, he's already put himself into my hands. He's already playing the game, whether he knows it or not."

"I vote Lance for next Evil Mastermind Overlord," Pidge deadpans. "He's got me beat, Jesus."

* * *

**Now**

Lance has been driving for two hours, straight up north from the city. The abduction had gone like clockwork; Kogane had been exactly where he was supposed to be. His guard had been down, his body loose, energy drained after his kickboxing workout. Lance had been waiting for him; had set off a small EMP burst a few minutes before Keith was scheduled to arrive in that street, so it had been nice and dark, all cameras and electronics non-functional, nothing to show that Lance was ever there. It had been a quick matter to pull Keith's attention with a heavy footfall, to play into his confusion with well-chosen words, to watch him as he’d fought the tranquilizers in the dart. Tranqs take a while to work. There had been just enough in the dart to make Keith woozy; the last thing Lance wants is a medical emergency if his client reacted badly to it. 

It's a careful game they play, and why—as a team—Lance, Hunk and Pidge consider themselves experts in their field; they know when to play the game and how far to take it without actually endangering anyone. 

Keith had run, and _oh_, Lance had enjoyed the chase. Lance hadn’t been the only guy with a hard-on by the time he’d finally wrestled Keith to the ground, gotten his hands over his head, pinned him down and dominated him. The way Keith had bucked beneath him, expression confused, a little scared, but determined to go down fighting, to not surrender… Holy shit. That had been sexy as hell.

The chloroform had been what actually knocked Keith out. His body had settled when he’d lost consciousness, had gone slack beneath Lance, and for a moment, Lance had simply stared until he'd shaken himself mentally and got a move on. There's no good way to explain to law enforcement why you are manhandling an unconscious body in a dark alleyway and Lance wanted to avoid that all costs. He'd slung Keith over his shoulder, and then had jogged down to the car he'd parked at the end of the alley earlier. It had been a matter of moments to get Keith in the trunk, to bind his hands with a zip tie behind him, blindfold and gag him and make sure he was comfortable for the ride. Finally, he'd disabled the EMP burst and, when everything came back on, he’d driven casually out of the alley and had gotten the hell out of the city.

He turns down a forested side road, driving for a few miles and then taking another turn. It's nice to get out of the urban sprawl for a change, breathe fresh air. The road winds its way down the side of a steep valley, and then up the other side, until the ground starts to level out again once they are on the rocky shield that makes up this part of the landscape. In the past, this was known as 'cottage country'. People used to come up here for weekends, to spend the summer, but the majority of the population feels safer in the city these days. 

Lance approaches a gated entrance and keys in the code, waiting for the heavy wrought iron gates to open. He passes through slowly, watching the gates close in the rear view mirror, taking the long driveway down until their destination itself comes into view. Lance approaches the Smythe House; it's owned by Coran and Allura, but they allow The Blue Lion to borrow it on occasion. It's over two hundred and fifty years old, built in the early 1900's when it was all the rage to vacation up north. It's a two story, white stone building, large enough to have six bedrooms and nestled on well over a thousand acres of enclosed wilderness. Not many people even realize it's here.

He pulls up close to the front door and exits the car. He pops the trunk; his client is still out cold, and Lance leans over, placing two fingers on his pulse point and keeping count for a moment. Perfect: heart rate normal for an unconscious person, no signs of struggle or of an aversion to the chloroform. He hefts Keith over his shoulder and enters the house, flicking on the lights as he moves into the spacious kitchen.

Hunk has done a good job; there's an overnight bag tucked just inside the living room door, no doubt packed with a couple of changes of clothes for Lance, probably an extra outfit for Keith for when the weekend is over. Lance leaves that for now; concentrates on getting Keith up the stairs without incident and into one of the bedrooms that face the rear of the property. This room is The Blue Lion's play room, specifically furnished with an abduction scenario in mind; floorboards bare but painted, walls empty of decoration, unlit fireplace against the back wall. There are bars on the outside of the windows; weirdly enough, the entire house has decorative bars on the outside of the upper storey, but it works well as part of the mind fuck if Keith thinks he can't get out. 

Lance lays Keith down gently on the bed for the moment, arranges his limbs, and then sets about the room, drawing the curtains so that Keith won't be able to tell what time it is. He grabs a sturdy chair from one of the other furnished rooms and sets it in the middle of this room. This is one of the larger corner bedrooms, flanked by two large windows on one side, and one on the other, so there is more than enough floor space to make an interrogation work.

Lance shrugs off his hoodie and spends a few moments looking at the room, trying to get in Keith's headspace. After a moment, he turns the chair from facing the fireplace to facing the bed. He wants Keith to be able to see that when he's being 'interrogated', to see it as a threat; a promise of punishment for failing to cooperate. That's all part of the game; if Keith wants consensual non-con, he needs to see it coming, to anticipate what Lance is going to do to him eventually. He wants Keith to want it badly, while persuading himself he doesn't.

Once Lance is satisfied, he checks on Keith again. No signs of stress; at least none until Lance wants him to. He tugs off the blindfold and the gag, cuts the zip tie with his pocket knife, and strips Keith of his shoes, his jeans, and t-shirt. _Damn_, this guy is cut, he thinks; all lean body and muscle, a little more built than he initially thought now that he's out of his clothes. He has a defined Adonis belt, a fine trail of hair leading from his navel to below the waist band of his boxer shorts. Long legs, strong thighs; this guy is a survivor. 

He's almost tempted to run his hands over Keith, to caress, but he wants Keith conscious when he touches him; Lance thrives on the reaction of his client beneath him. He pulls his hand back and thinks. He wants Keith off balance from the start, and that means he gonna start him in the chair. He carries Keith to it, arranges his arms over the back and uses a lark's head double column to bind his wrists together and to the chair. Once he's sure its snug enough to keep tension, he wraps another length of cotton rope around the chair and Keith's chest to keep him in place, and a length to bind each ankle to the wooden legs.

He stands back for a moment to admire his work; Keith looks pretty in the soft red rope. It suits him. He hopes that, later, Keith will appreciate the time and effort he put into this. Lance has always been a people pleaser. It doesn't matter if Keith has paid Lance a huge sum of money to kidnap him and fuck him insensible, Lance is going to make sure Keith enjoys himself and gets his full money worth. He watches Keith for a moment, observing. He can feel the excitement building; can feel that trickle of adrenaline and desire sliding into his gut, down his spine. This is going to be a good one, Lance thinks. He's going to enjoy every moment of subverting and subjugating Keith. He can already feel his dom personality trying to take control; it wants to play with his new toy.

First though – Lance pulls the blindfold from the bed where he'd left it. He wraps it over Keith's eyes, ties it behind his head snugly, makes sure his fringe is pulled free at the front. Keith has beautiful, thick hair, and Lance runs his fingers through it, looking forward to tugging on it later. One of Keith's kinks from his sheet was hair pulling, and Lance thinks he is going use that one quite a bit.

Finally he moves back. Keith looks perfect as he is.

Lance steps out for a moment to fill a small bucket with cold water, and brings it back in, placing in on the floor near the door. There's a little part of him – maybe the childish side – that is going to enjoy Keith's squawk when he wakes him up with the water. He grins.

Then he closes his eyes, takes a couple of deep, centering breaths, and lets his dom rise to the surface.

Let the game begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut next chapter. If anyone is interested... ;)


	3. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the game begin....

Keith isn't aware he's unconscious until he's not. With a rough shout he comes awake, the abrupt and sudden drenching with frigid water bringing him rapidly back to the surface. He sucks in a deep breath and snaps his head up, eyes opening. He blinks, heaving in deep lungfuls of air, but everything is still dark.

He can't see.

He freezes; forcing his breathing to calm to shallow, short breaths. Listening. Trying to parse his surroundings. He's upright; sitting in a chair, maybe? He flexes his arms; tied behind him, he can feel rope snug around his wrists, and around his upper arms and chest. His ankles are bound too. 

He can feel another person in the room; his senses on overdrive. He knows someone threw water over him, now they are watching his reactions. 

"Welcome back, sweetheart."

Keith tenses. He remembers that sensuous, dangerous voice from the alley way; the guy who'd tranq'd him and then knocked him out. Keith remembers the fight, remembers struggling. Remembers how being pinned beneath that guy had turned him on despite the situation. He can feel himself flush at the memory, hears the footsteps of the guy coming toward him.

The footsteps stop in front of him, and Keith flips his sodden hair to the side, trying to get it off his face, and glares insolently in the general direction of where he assumes his kidnapper is standing.

He's not expecting the gentle touch to his cheekbone and he flinches, unable to hide the reaction. There's a chuckle from the guy, a thumb gently gliding under the edge of the blindfold, stroking his skin.

Keith can't decide if this is real or not; if The Blue Lion are for some reason ahead of schedule, or if this is an actual kidnapping. It makes his head swirl with doubt, gives him butterflies in his stomach, nerves and fear and anticipation warring within him to form a heady cocktail that almost makes him feel high.

"What do you want?" Keith bites out. "Who are you?" He's starting to shiver; he feels naked, but if he concentrates hard enough, he can feel the band of elastic at his waist. He's still got his boxers on, which is good. Good until he figures out what kind of game they are playing, and if it's a game at all.

He can hear the guy humming softly; distracting, pulling Keith back to the hand resting on his cheekbone, still stroking. "Which question do you want the answer to?" the man asks. "You get to choose one. The other will be a reward for good behavior."

Surprise makes Keith pause, shocked at the answer momentarily. _A reward for good behavior? What the hell?_ But wait – if this guy wants information – Keith won't need to forfeit to find that out, the guy is going to ask anyway. No, Keith wants to know who this guy is first, to put a name to that deceptively smooth voice. He smirks, realizing a moment too late he's let his expression show on his face.

There's a fist in his hair suddenly, yanking his head back. Keith doesn't fight it, concentrates on keeping down the gasp that tries to escape his mouth. 

"Something amusing you that I'm unaware of?" the guy asks, hot breath against his Keith's ear, the side of his neck. 

"Not at all," Keith bites out, blinking behind the blindfold, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes from the grip on his hair. He's not going to let this guy get to him, not this quickly out of the gate. 

The grip on his hair lightens, instead his captor starts carding his hand through Keith's hair like a soft caress. In any other situation it might feel soothing. "So, Keith Kogane. I'll ask one last time, which question do you want answered?" The fingers tighten in his hair; a warning.

"Give me your name," Keith grinds out. "I can't call you 'asshole' all the time."

The man lets out an amused bark of laughter. He shifts away; hand falling from Keith's hair. Keith can hear his footsteps on the bare floorboards as he moves back a couple of steps, probably observing him. "You can call me Lance," the guy says after a heavy moment laden with silence. As if he was weighing Keith, deciding if Keith was worth having his name.

"Lance?" Keith scoffs. "Sounds like some 80's surfer reject if you ask me." Part of Keith's mind is screaming at him: what if this is real? What if you are pissing off the person who currently has ultimate power over you? This man said in the alley he wanted to _hurt_ Keith; was _looking forward_ to it. Insulting the guy now is only going to make things worse, but somehow Keith can't stop; he needs to feel like he has some semblance of control.

There's fingers at his chin suddenly, grip vicelike and bruising as Keith's head is jerked upward, probably so _Lance_ can see his expressions better. "Hmm," Lance muses, "I can see you're going to be a handful, sweetheart. Not sure how much of my effort you're worth, if I'm being honest. Someone's paid me a great deal of money to find out what you know. They've also paid me a lot of money to dispose of you afterward."

_What the fuck?_ Keith jerks his head out of Lance's grip, or tries to, anyway. Lance's grip is absolute; Keith isn't going anywhere. Keith's heartrate kicks up, along with the nerves simmering in his gut. There's also a flicker of _wantneeddesire_ there too; an acknowledgement of the power Lance holds over him.

"You're super pretty for a guy," Lance purrs, close to Keith's ear. "Maybe you could… _persuade_ me to keep you alive for later?"

This isn't real, Keith's mind suddenly says. This guy is with the agency he hired – there's no way a regular kidnapper would make that kind of statement. To… to offer to keep him around as some sort of a sex toy in return for his life? That's movie level bullshit, he thinks. And with that acknowledgement, Keith feels the warmth of desire unfurl in his belly; now he knows this isn't real he can relax a little, play along.

"Fuck you," Keith snarls. He twists in his bindings, trying to see if there is any give, but his wrists remain firmly in place, tied to the back of the chair. Same with his ankles.

Lance laughs, fingers tightening again on Keith's jaw. "You'll wish you'd agreed to it, once we start," Lance says firmly. "I'll give you a moment to reconsider my offer."

And with that, Lance drops his hand. Keith can hear his footsteps toward the door, and then the sound of it opening and closing.

Convinced he's alone, Keith relaxes, letting out a deep exhale. He moves his jaw, which aches, still holding the memory of Lance's fingers digging into his skin. Holy shit, that was intense. Keith feels high; the relief and the adrenaline rush making him almost light headed. He mentally checks in with himself; he's cold, but not shivering anymore. The room appears to be warm enough that that won't be a problem. He's missing his clothes; Lance must have removed them while he was unconscious. Keith can't say he remembers much of the guy; he didn't get a good look at him in the alley way, other than being able to tell he's tall and lean, strong. He's just the type of guy that would appeal to Keith if he wanted to hook up with someone, and _damn_, his voice does all kinds of things to Keith's libido. Keith recons he could probably get off on Lance's voice alone, if the mood was right. And now… Keith knows that at some point Lance is going to be in him. Will fuck him, hard and fast and without mercy. Will hold him down and take from Keith what he wants.

Keith can feel his face flush; he lets out a little noise in the back of his throat that might be part want, part need. He can feel his cock start to fill out a little, and he can't decide if he wants to spread his legs or close them against the unknown environment. That's another hot button; he doesn't know anything about his surroundings, he has no idea where he is. What hour it is. What day it is. Lance could have kept him unconscious indefinitely, never waking Keith in between doses. 

At this moment, Lance wholly owns Keith, and Keith has every intention of letting him.

The sound of the door opening startles Keith, and he attempts to close his legs, unwilling yet to let Lance see how hard he's getting. The door slams shut, and Lance's footsteps echo across the bare boards until he pauses in front of Keith. There's a moment of silence, and Keith flushes further when he realizes Lance is watching him; taking him in, making note of his arousal. Keith has to force himself not to drop his head in submission.

"You are _fascinating_," Lance says after a moment. "I leave you alone for five minutes and when I get back you've wound yourself up like a needy slut." Keith feels fingertips on the insides of his knees, and he attempts to close his legs, but Lance has all the advantages; keeps Keith's legs spread. He ghosts a hand up Keith's inner thigh, fingers brushing over his balls and where he's semi-hard; a quick caress that doesn't really register until Keith lets out a stuttering breath of surprise. 

"I'm tempted to play with you right now, maybe cash in a quick deposit on letting you live later," Lance adds. "Or maybe you prefer to reconsider that once we get to the actual part where I have to hurt you. That'll probably turn you on more, won't it?"

Keith tries to bite back a whine. Every word Lance utters is like a punch to the gut; heavy with intent, winding up Keith's arousal to a point where he's shifting against the chair. He needs to feel Lance, to feel his touch grounding him.

He's not expecting a kiss.

Lance's fingers grip his chin, a little more gently this time, and then he's pressing soft lips to Keith's, once, twice, until Keith responds. There's the nudge of tongue at the next pass, and Keith opens gladly. If this is what Lance wants, Keith will give it, game or not. Lance makes a humming, pleased noise as he explores Keith's mouth, no hurry in the gesture, like he has all the time in the world. Lance tastes like mint gum and coffee, but it's pleasant and familiar and Keith relaxes further into the kiss. Lance offers him another couple of quick kisses and then pulls back. 

"Damn, I am going to enjoy breaking you, Keith Kogane," Lance says, voice taking on a hard edge. "I want to hear you beg for my mercy, and thank me when I won't give it to you."

_Fuck_, that should not sound hot, Keith thinks, brain stuttering at the implications of Lance's words.

There's a sharp tug on the leg of the chair, and Keith slides a little in the chair as Lance rearranges him. A hand on his knee again, and Lance's voice directly in front of him, so he must be kneeling down, Keith thinks. "I want you to pay attention to what I'm going to tell you, sweetheart," Lance says in that same hard voice. "Yes?" He offers a quick slap to the inside of Keith's thigh; not enough to hurt, but it focuses Keith's attention.

"Yes," Keith replies, sucking in a breath as Lance's hand strokes up his thigh and back down to his knee.

"I'm going to ask you some questions, and I want you to consider answering them. I'll give you a free pass on the first one, and I'll punish you if you continue to withhold what I want to know."

Keith feels a minute trickle of unease at what Lance is saying; he can't help it. Lance sounds sure of himself; a sign of a dom in control, for sure. It's just –

"Keith, focus." A pinch to his thigh, hard enough to make Keith jolt. He hears Lance stand up, step back a little, the floorboards creaking beneath him. "First question," Lance says. "Tell me what you know about Operation Paladin."

Keith actually feels the sharp drop as his stomach plummets, the hard, almost painful flip of adrenaline his body forces through him. 

This isn't for fun, he realizes. 

Lance isn't from the agency after all. 

For some reason, someone, somewhere, has deemed Keith a viable target; they know he has insider knowledge on Galra's military programs and have decided he's worth the money to pay a professional to kidnap him and find out what he knows. And to kill him afterward. He's a weak link.

For a brief moment, the world turns to ash in Keith's mind, and his body tenses, fight and flight instincts kicking in, pumping pure adrenaline through his system. He curls his fists in the restraints. He's just a civilian; he's not made to withstand interrogation, he's not trained for it.

He takes a deep breath, lets it out. He can try, right? He can do his best.

"Lance, why don't you do me a favour and fuck off," Keith grinds out. "I'm not going to tell you jack shit."

Keith can hear Lance sigh. He sounds disappointed. "I knew you were going to be difficult, darling; but coincidentally that's also the part I'm looking forward to most. Shall we begin, then?"

This time Lance's footsteps fill Keith with hesitation, a fear of the unknown. He grits his teeth and waits – uncertain what will come next but dreading it just the same.

* * *

Beautiful defiance. 

That is what Keith Kogane is, Lance thinks. He was fascinating when he was just a list of kinks on an application; a series of test results in his medical packet. Captivating in that alley way, when he was cornered, fighting for his freedom.

Mesmerizing when Lance pretended to leave the room, when Keith thought he was alone in his captivity. Watching doubt and hope flit across his features as he tried to work through the little he knew of his situation, weighing the information he did have against what he could sense, what he could feel, what he could hear. It was difficult to remain still and just observe; to not break the illusion for Keith that he was by himself.

Enthralling to watch him as he let out a soft whimper of need; his face flushing so prettily beneath the blindfold. Lance had wondered what Keith was thinking about in that moment, what it was that made his body react in such a way, for his legs to fall open and his cock start to harden. In the right scenario, Lance thinks, Keith could be everything Lance would ever want.

Keith is difficult to control; it will take a steady hand to guide this experience for him, to give Keith what he wants. Keith is a person in control of everything in his life, and to want to surrender it, that says things about a person. Keith does not trust easily either, it seems, and Lance can work with that. In order to do what Keith wishes, Lance will have to play carefully. He needs Keith to feel each adrenaline rush; each crash. To keep him off balance, unsure. Eventually, Keith will break, and that doesn't have to be a negative thing, especially when you are playing a sexual game like this one. Surrender is all the more intoxicating when it is earned with hard work, with sweat and tears. Keith wants to break, to surrender, and Lance _will_ give him that. It will be exciting getting him to that point, and Lance has plans.

Right now, Lance's careful mindfuck is working. When Lance pretended to come back into the room, Keith was convinced this was the game he'd hired the agency to play. It took some skill to persuade Keith that Lance really is the enemy, and only Pidge's stolen information had pushed Keith where Lance wants him. _Tell me what you know about Operation Paladin._

One sentence, and Keith is frozen with self-doubt, everything he thought he knew turned on its head. It's a beautiful thing to watch: he's tense in the chair, arms twisting against his restraints, trying to pull his legs closed, even though he's still half-hard. Keith is a delicious contradiction as he sits there, forced to wait for Lance to decide what he's going to do to him.

Lance crosses the room, making sure that Keith can hear him. Keith tracks his movements beneath the blindfold, and Lance watches as he licks his lips nervously. His thick, black hair is damp, starting to curl a little in places as it dries. Lance picks up his pocket knife from the side table. Keith won't know what the sound is, only that it is a loud noise in the undisturbed silence of the room. He crosses behind Keith, letting his hand fall to Keith's tense shoulder. He leans down, flicks open the knife, and watches Keith flinch, his breath quickening. Keith knows what that sound is; most boys do, having owned a pocket knife in the past.

Lance fists his hand in Keith's hair, dragging his head back until it's no doubt at an uncomfortable angle. "Operation Paladin," Lance reminds Keith, watching Keith's Adams apple bob as he swallows. Lance reverses the knife blade, so the blade faces outward, and places the blunt edge carefully against the side of Keith's exposed neck. There's no way Keith is in danger like this; blade facing away, but to Keith, blindfolded – imagination will be his worst enemy. His mind will do Lance's work for him, will convince Keith that Lance has the very sharp edge of a naked blade pressed to his throat.

Keith lets out a whimper and attempts to jerk away, but Lance holds him in place. "Come on, sweetheart," Lances coos. "You're just a civilian. What loyalty do you have to a corporation that pays you? They don't own you; not like I do right now." Lance leans down, shifts the blade against Keith's skin. Keith goes still, frozen, breath trapped in his lungs. "All you have to do is give me what I want to know."

Keith isn't ready to break, Lance thinks. He's not surprised; that's a part of the game. Someone like Keith won't fold easily. He pulls the knife away and releases Keith's hair, letting him curl forward, breathing hard like he just ran a race. Lance circles the chair, and one thing is clear; Keith is still hard. Probably harder than he was before, his erection pressing against the fabric of his boxer shorts. 

Lance smirks; he can work with that, _hell yeah_. He leans down, stroking his palm firmly against Keith's cock, and Keith lets out a ragged gasp, hips bucking into Lance's hand before he can still his movements. Lance laughs, delighted. "Oh, you are perfect," he says, noting the way Keith hips tick forward, still chasing his touch. "Let's change the game up, shall we?" he suggests.

"Wh-what?" Keith stutters out. He jerks his head to the side, trying to figure out what Lance is up to.

Lance reaches out, sliding his fingers through Keith's hair in a caress, before moving his hand down to loosely circle Keith's neck. He squeezes momentarily to get Keith's full attention. "I suggest that you stay very still for the next few minutes, sweetheart. Very still, okay?" He waits. "Nod if you understand what I'm saying." 

Keith hesitates, then licks his lips, and nods. Lance flicks open the blade and reaches down, fisting his fingers in the side of Keith's boxers, pulling the fabric away from his skin, and cutting swiftly through the elastic waistband. The material gives easily, and Lance tears the rest of the way down the leg. Keith goes incredibly still, only sucking in a heaving breath when he hears the fabric part. Lance switches sides and does the same, and fortunately Keith doesn't fight him, at least not until he fully realizes the consequences of Lance's actions.

With a final tug, Lance pulls what remains of Keith's boxers from his body, exposing him to Lance's very appreciative view. "Damn, you have a beautiful cock," Lance says. It's thick and a decent size; he wouldn't be opposed to that in his ass if this was a different scenario. 

He drops into Keith's lap, flinging the remains of his boxers to the side along with the knife. Keith flinches when he hears the knife drop to the floor, but other than that, he doesn't move. Lance can feel Keith's body shaking with slight tremors beneath him, and now Lance needs to get Keith's head into a better place, and quickly.

"I'm going to make you beg, darling," Lance says softly, purring out the words. "You can start whenever you want."

"I'm not begging you for anything," Keith bites out.

"Are you sure about that? Let's see who has the upper hand at the end of this, shall we?"

He shifts in Keith's lap, licking a stripe up his palm, and then wrapping his hand around Keith's cock. Keith must have been expecting Lance to do something of the sort since he's in Keith's lap, so all Lance gets for his efforts is a slight jerk of surprise from Keith and he turns his head away, biting his lip and refusing to acknowledge what Lance is doing to him. 

Then he starts to stroke Keith's cock, nice and steady to start. Keith bucks a little beneath him when he realizes Lance isn't going to stop; his face flushes beautifully beneath the blindfold and his lips part slightly as Lance works him over. Lance rests his other hand on Keith's shoulder, watching the way his emotions play across his face as Lance figures out what Keith likes. The body doesn't lie, after all.

Keith's fighting his restraints, breath coming a little faster by the time Lance has started twisting his wrist at the top of every stroke. That makes Keith's breath stutter in his throat, dislodging a tiny whimper, and Lance can't help but love those little sounds that break free. Lance is also hard, cock pressing insistently against the zipper on his jeans, and the friction is delicious. He's not here for his pleasure – not yet, at least, that will come later – but right now he's very focused on Keith's. He rubs his thumb over the head of Keith's cock, spreading pre-come around and slicking everything up nicely, making a wet noise when Lance squeezes, then starts stroking again, upping the pace. 

Desperation looks good on Keith, Lance decides. Keith's hips are restless beneath him, like he can't help himself from thrusting into Lance's grip. He's slightly hunched forward, breath coming ragged and fast. His body is tense, and he switches between biting his lip to stifle the noises he wants to make, and taking shuddering breaths. Lance can tell Keith is close when his body unfurls and Keith tips his head back, lips parted, nipples tight and erect. 

Keith is letting out little noises – _hah, hah, hah_ – and his cock is slick with pre-come, sliding down his shaft as Lance works him closer and closer. Lance leans forward, until he can mouth at the soft skin just beneath Keith's ear.

Lance has him right where he wants him.

"Beg for me, Keith," Lance breathes out.

"N-no." Keith is struggling to form any kind of sentence, blissed out and on edge. "_No_."

"Beg for it," Lance says, voice laden with command.

Keith shakes his head, turns away. Lance increases his pace, lets Keith believe he's going to get what he wants. He's never been more wrong, but he'll need to learn that lesson a couple of times at least, Lance thinks, before it fully sinks in. Keith is pushing into Lance's hand now, movements erratic, and Lance digs around in his pocket for what he needs. He waits until Keith is teetering on the edge, seconds from orgasm, and removes his hand, moving to squeeze tightly at the base of Keith's cock. Keith's reaction is something to behold; he freezes, sucking in a breath, face flushing hard when he realizes what's happened. He bucks uselessly into Lance's grip, struggling further when he realizes Lance is fitting a cock ring over him, slipping his balls through until the whole thing is snug and tight, and preventing him from coming indefinitely. 

"Fuck!" Keith bites out, breath heaving. He struggles, almost dislodging Lance in the process. Lance climbs off of Keith's lap and grins, giving him a soft pat on the cheek. 

"Just as I thought," Lance observes, letting his amusement show through his words. "Desperation suits you. Unless there's some information you want to share with me?"

"Wh – You – " Keith starts, like he can't figure out what he wants to say. 

"No?" Lance cocks his head to the side. This is what he lives for; watching the results of his words and actions, seeing where they lead. He waits; lets the moment stretch until its clear Keith is starting to get uncomfortable, to question his decisions. "Okay, let's start again," Lance says, slipping back into Keith's lap, feeling him tense up in surprise. He spreads lube over his fingers and palm, pushing the packet back in his pocket, and then wraps his hand around Keith's aching erection. 

"We can stop when you beg me too," Lance reminds him. "Okay, sweetheart?"

* * *

Keith is either in heaven or hell; at this point it's becoming harder to really tell. This fucker is going to edge him to death, he thinks. After the fourth time Lance brought him to the point of release and then backed off, Keith can't even remember what the question was he was supposed to answer. His body is wracked with fine shivers, heart beating fast, his body aching with tension. He's pretty sure at one point he may have bitten his lip, because it feels tender and he has a slight copper taste in his mouth, especially when he licks his lips. He _needs_ to come; he doesn't think he can take much more of this.

He hears Lance walk away, humming to himself again. Keith focuses on that, not the ache in his balls and his dick, the oversensitivity, the way his shoulders burn from the position he's sitting in. He listens to Lance shuffling around behind him, somewhere on the far side of the room. Then he hears the chink of glass, the sound of water being poured. Keith freezes, breath stopping in his throat. Lance has water. Until he heard that sound, Keith hadn't realized how thirsty he was; how much he wants to feel that water slide down his throat. He's been so caught up in survival, trying to figure out what's going on, that he hadn't paid attention to his body's basic needs. Now he craves the imagined taste of it.

Lance takes a drink, making another one of those little agreeable hums he likes to make. Then he refills the glass. "Thirsty, sweetheart?" says a voice just behind his shoulder.

Keith isn't going to break over a glass of water; no way. He shakes his head. Lance laughs; there's the sound of the glass being placed on the table, and then Lance's fingers are back in his hair. Keith jerks to the side; unsure of what Lance is going to do next, but then he feels the blindfold loosen, and the silk slips down over this nose and then away. Keith keeps his eyes shut for a moment, not wanting to overload his senses. When Lance seems content to wait it out, Keith blinks and slowly opens his eyes. He keeps his head down, taking note first of the bare floorboards in front of him, and then, when he's adjusted to the light, the pair of bare feet just in front of his knees. Slowly Keith raises his eyes, taking in the faded jeans, the blue sleeved baseball shirt, looking up until he has first proper eye contact with his captor.

Keith's first thought is, _fuck, this guy is super hot_. Sunkissed skin, deep chestnut hair that curls slightly at the ends, piercing deep blue eyes and a generous mouth. Shit, the things Keith would like to do with that mouth, Jesus.

Lance stares Keith down, gaze direct and unwavering, and eventually Keith concedes the win, flicks his gaze away to the side. Lance may be hot, but he's a bastard who's knocked him out, held a knife to Keith's throat, and edged him half to death. Keith might just hate him a little right now, especially when Lance leans forward and grabs him firmly by the chin again.

"Ready to beg me, yet?" Lance asks with a raised eyebrow.

Having his vision makes things worse, Keith thinks. Now, he doesn't have to rely on inflection in Lance's voice to guess what he's thinking, now he can read his face, his expressions. Lance looks impatient, but at the same time he's excited; Keith has noticed the guy is turned on, filling out the front of his jeans nicely. Keith is balanced on a dangerous knife edge; if he doesn't give Lance something, Keith is probably not going to enjoy the next few hours.

Lance squeezes his fingers around Keith's chin, and then drops his hand, glancing toward the table. Keith can't help but follow his gaze, until he sees that glass of water sitting there, moisture beading on the outside, dripping down to the table's surface. Keith can _taste_ it, he wants it so bad.

"Beg for it."

Keith snaps his head back around to Lance. Lance is smirking now, arms crossed. "Beg for it," he repeats. "Your choice. The water, or you can come. Pick one."

_Bastard_, Keith thinks. This was like the choice he gave Keith at the beginning. Two things Keith really wants, but he can only have one. Keith doesn't remember the last time he had something to drink. Probably before he left the gym; he drank a bottle there before he headed out. He has no idea how much time has passed since then; only knows that his throat is dry, and he's craving it. It could also be a side effect of the chloroform, he doesn't know. Keith drops his shoulders, swallows and takes a deep breath. He can do this. If he has to beg to get what he wants, he can do it, right? Just this once.

"Please," he breathes out, eyes closing for a moment.

Lance leans back in. "Can't hear you, Keith," he says.

"Please, can I have some water?" Keith is going to _bury_ this guy when he gets free.

"There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Lance purrs, giving him a soft pat on his face that Keith jerks back from. He watches Lance move to the table, to pick up the glass, walk back towards Keith. Keith's first instinct is to lean forward, but he holds himself still. He doesn't trust this guy; doesn't know what he might do next, so Keith is surprised when Lance leans in, holding the glass to his lips, tilting it so Keith can drink.

The water is like nectar; cold and clean, and burns its way down Keith's parched throat. "Ah-ah," Lance chides, pulling it away for a moment. "You gotta breathe, or you'll choke. I promised you this; I don't go back on my word once I've given it, so you can relax."

Keith takes a slow breath, and raises an eyebrow at the glass in Lance's hand. He leans back in, and they repeat the process until the glass is empty. When Keith is finished, Lance pulls away, and then Keith notices it; Lance has a woven friendship bracelet around his left wrist. It's a thin band, two strands of blue and white braided together, but what catches Keith's eye is the quick flash of the charm he sees dangling from it before Lance moves away with the glass. Keith isn't sure if he's imagining it, or if his mind is inventing what he wants to see. 

Because he's pretty sure that there is a tiny, tiny charm of a blue lion on that friendship bracelet, which means –

Keith's head swims just a little with the possibilities. Because it means this _isn't_ real, after all. It means that somehow, this agency he hired is just _that_ good at what they do, that they somehow have the ability to put together a plan so diabolically clever that Keith was convinced the whole thing was legitimate, that he had actually been kidnapped for information. Lance had done a brilliant job of setting him up; directing his highs and lows, pushing him to jump to conclusions. 

But. 

But what if he's wrong? What if Keith is imagining what he saw? He needs to get Lance back in his line of sight so he can confirm once and for all. 

Lance returns after a few moments, looking Keith over quickly. "Ready to give me what I want to know?" he says.

Keith considers Lance for a moment. He shakes his head, glancing up at Lance out of the corner of his eye. "You're gonna have to try harder than that, _sweetheart_," Keith taunts. He watches Lance's expression, the way the realization hits him when Keith throws his pet name back at him. There's a dangerous spark of delight in Lance's blue eyes, gone as quickly as it came, and Lance lunges forward, quick like lightning, wrapping fingers in Keith's hair and pulling hard until Keith is forced to look upward toward his captor.

"Didn't know giving you what you wanted was going to make you lippy," Lance observes with a dark smile. "Duly noted, _Keith_." 

Lance's fingers tighten, pulling the hair against his scalp, and that brief, sharp prickling pain travels the entire length of Keith's spine, making his balls tighten and his dick twitch, despite the cock ring still restraining him. He lets out a shocked gasp at the sensation, and that draws Lance's attention to his predicament. _Fuck_, Keith thinks. 

When Lance slides back into Keith's lap, he's dreading it. He wants to come, but he knows Lance isn't going to let him. He's faced with another hard climb to an orgasm he's never going to reach, and when Lance wraps his hand around Keith's cock, Keith whimpers. He forgets for a moment about the bracelet and the charm, mind sliding already, preparing for what's to come; the intense pain/pleasure Lance seems to delight in. Lance squeezes his cock, gliding his slick hand over Keith's erection, and Keith's grits his teeth. It feels so good, but he knows Lance won't give him what he wants.

"Beg me for it," Lance says, tipping Keith's chin up with his free hand.

Keith wants to say it. He can feel it like a stone, resting at the back of his throat, a single word: _please_. That's all he has to say. _Please_. He can do that and then Lance will let him come, finally. Keith needs it as much as he needed the water. He can't take it any longer. He's already so close; each time Lance does this Keith's ability to withstand it becomes reduced, the climb to orgasm shorter. The denial, that much quicker.

Lance pulls away again, leaving Keith a mess, breath heaving in his chest, body tight, tears pricking at his eyes. He can feel the sudden heat as one tear breaks free, slipping down his cheekbone, curving around his jaw.

"You know what to do," Lance reminds him, fingers pushing his chin back up so he has to meet Lance's gaze. "Beg me for it. It's only a word, _sweetheart_."

Keith gives in, body going pliant. He stares at Lance, mouth parted for a moment as he licks his lips. Like a true predator, Lance can sense he's already won; he can feel it.

Keith closes his eyes momentarily. "Please," he whispers. He feels another tear break free, almost cathartic.

Lance smiles, and it's breathtaking. Keith wants to see more of that expression, wants to be good for him. It's a dangerous thing to want, and he knows it.

"Good boy," Lance praises, and reaches down between Keith's legs, pulling at the cock ring gently, tugging it free. "Maybe next time you'll think twice about resisting me."

Keith can feel the warmth in his belly tightening once the cock ring is gone. His breath is winding tighter, hips ticking upward, body seeking a final push over the edge, but he needs Lance for that. "Please," he says urgently, because now the dam has broken, it doesn't matter. He's said it once, what's once more?

Lance hums approvingly. He reached down with his left hand, keeping eye contact with Keith for the moment. "Watch me," Lance says.

Keith looks down as Lance wraps his fingers around Keith's cock, gives it a slow, steady pull from base to tip, twisting his wrist. Keith flicks his eyes down to Lance's hand, moving over his cock, and then back up, watching Lance's face. Down again, and then he sees it. Just as his pleasure peaks and crests, pushing him hard into orgasm; the charm on Lance's bracelet. 

It's a blue lion.

Keith lets out a cry he can't hope to contain, eyes squeezing shut as his body locks up with the intense pleasure. It's like being hit with multiple orgasms all at the same time; Lance has built this up over hours, coached his body into believing he'll never reach peak, and has destroyed that in one devastating moment of pleasure. Keith grits his teeth and shudders through his orgasm, feeling like he's seeing stars. The rush is incredible; he goes light headed, gasping for air and he doesn't think he's ever had an orgasm this intense. When he comes down, he's slumped forward as far as his restraints will let him go. He's gasping for breath, trembling hard. He might be trembling from relief though; both from finally being allowed to come, and also because he's confirmed _this isn't real_. Lance _isn't_ going to get more creative trying to get information out of him. Lance is simply a very good escort who is incredible at what he does. 

The relief has Keith starting to crash; he can feel himself slipping. He's tired; body pushed to its limits. It takes him a moment to notice that Lance is standing in front of him. He tips Keith's chin up, watching him for a moment, taking him in in all his ruin.

"I think I like this look on you," Lance says. "Very pretty."

Keith meets his eyes. Waits to see if Lance will break scene, because that's what this is, isn't it? A scene in a pre-planned game they are playing. Keith wonders if Lance expects him to safeword, to call a slowdown or a stop now he's figured it out. For Keith though, the knowledge that this is a game just means he can let go now; he can sink fully into his role of victim, of abductee, and let Lance do what he's good at, which is take care of Keith. Keith can fight back as much as he wants, or as little as he wants. 

And with that knowledge, Keith lets his gaze fall away, submissive for the moment, body and mind exhausted. 

At peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated! I can see all these subscriptions and I get you all are reading this in your anon-shirts because of the content and tags... However showing a little love would be encouraging ♥️


	4. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith gets exactly what he asked for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that in this chapter we are going to earn most of those tags I pre-gamed at the beginning, including the consensual non-con one :)

Lance lets out a deep breath when Keith's eyes finally close and he goes lax in his bindings, unconsciousness finally claiming him. 

Lance had wondered if Keith was going to clue in to his bracelet and the little lion charm on it. Lance always wears it during intense scenes. Safewords for a slow down or stop are good, but sometimes, like in this scenario where Lance is hard-core messing with Keith's mind – well, Lance likes to have a visible reminder available to his sub should they need it. A clue hidden in plain sight if they look hard enough.

Keith had met his eyes, a solid, relieved look, sizing Lance up properly for the first time, and not as a threat. Deciding if he was going to reward Lance with his full trust. Lance had simply waited patiently for Keith to make up his mind, and a moment of understanding had passed between them without the need to break scene or slow down.

And then Keith had looked away, the perfect image of a submissive acknowledging his dom. That was an incredible turn on for Lance, that heady rush that comes with knowing you finally have complete control.

Now, however, Lance needs to get Keith comfortable, and that means out of the chair he's been in for hours. Lance kneels down and starts untying the ropes Keith's bound to the chair with. He pulls Keith forward gently, used to his dead weight by now, and puts him over his shoulder, carrying him to the bed. Lance checks him over, and once he's sure Keith isn't going to wake up any time soon, he jogs to the adjoining bathroom to fill up a bowl with warm, soapy water. He puts that carefully on the floor alongside the bed, and then unties Keith's hands, rubbing his wrists to encourage blood flow, checking to make sure he hasn't injured himself. Then he rolls Keith onto his back. He wipes him down gently with the soapy water, using a sponge. Keith lets out a little noise, but doesn't really move. Lance isn't going to let his guard down; game or not, Keith might wake any moment and choose to be difficult and that's not part of Lance's plan right now.

Lance watches as Keith's body reacts to the warm water; skin beading with moisture, nipples pebbling. The smooth skin of his belly shivering under the sponge and then again at the drag of Lance's fingertips after. He cleans the drying come from Keith's body, tidies him up, and combs his fingers through his hair until the tangles are gone. He's really done a number on Keith, because Keith doesn't shift, other than his body reacting instinctively to Lance's ministrations. 

Once that's done, Lance stands up, pushing the bowl to the side. Time to get Keith ready for the next part. He checks Keith's wrists again, and then binds them in front of him in another double column tie, attaching that to a length of rope that is tied just above the headboard. Keith will have enough movement right now if he moves in his sleep and he'll be able to turn over if he wants. Lance will tighten it later, but right now he doesn't want Keith to wake; he wants him totally surprised in a few hours when Lance chooses his moment to pounce.

Lance checks his phone; it's... _wow_. It's almost five in the morning. He'd gotten so caught up the game he hadn't noticed how much time had passed, what with losing a chunk of the evening to the drive up here. No wonder Keith is out like a light. Lance also needs some rest. He figures he can prep Keith and get some rest, maybe four hours or so, before he wakes Keith up with his next carefully planned surprise.

Lance is looking forward to tomorrow because he gets to give Keith exactly what he had asked for when he signed up with the agency. Keith thinks he's surrendered already, given everything he has to Lance, but Lance knows differently. Keith is merely pliant and cooperative for the time being; someone like Keith won't stay that way for long because they live for the thrill, to see how far they can push their own limits. But that's okay; Lance will break him down completely by the time the weekend is over and pack Keith off back home exhausted, but with a clear mind. 

Lance pulls out the lube and coats his fingertips with it generously. Keith is still very much unconscious when Lance starts to prep him, stroking fingers gently over Keith's skin, down the crack of his ass, then slipping a finger inside. Keith's body is unresisting, lax, and the glide is easy. As Lance suspected, Keith is a healthy gay male, and probably fucks himself quite regularly with a dildo when he doesn't have a partner. (Lance should know, he does the same). Keith's body remembers what it's like to be fucked, as opens quickly to Lance's gentle ministrations, until he can easily work two fingers in, pushing deep.

Keith's mouth opens in his sleep, brows furrowing, and he twitches his hips, rocking up into Lance's touch. Lance bites his lip; as much as watching Keith's body beg for it even in sleep turns him on, he can't lose his head over this. He needs Keith loose for what he's going to do next, but not aroused. The whole point of the game is that Keith won't suspect a thing until Lance makes his move. 

Keith wants to be dominated; held down and fucked hard against his will, and Lance is going to give him that. 

Lance withdraws his fingers, stroking over Keith's ass fondly before moving away.

Keith is going to get everything he wanted, and more, because Lance always gives his clients what they need.

* * *

Keith is drifting, barely awake, when he feels a hard grip on his hips, yanking him down the bed and holding him down. There's the dip of body weight behind him, pushing his thighs apart, and while Keith is still fighting confusion there's a blunt press at his asshole, an aching, deep pressure as Lance sheaths himself to the hilt inside Keith in one long, intense press that seems to take forever. 

Keith lets out a cry, coming fully awake just as Lance bottoms out inside him. Keith scrambles to find a grip in the bed sheets with his bound hands, needs to ground himself, but Lance is already moving, not giving him enough time to react to the stimulus. Keith can feel every inch of Lance's generous, fat cock slide out and then thrust back in. The pressure – the _pleasure_ – is blindingly intense, and Keith's body is frozen, disbelief warring with the sudden emotional overload as he blinks into the darkness.

Lance's next thrust is just as overwhelming; and Keith tries to suck in a breath, but he can't think. He can't move either; hands bound and stretched above him, he can't get his knees under him because Lance is shoving him down into the mattress. That doesn't mean Keith isn't going to try – he struggles, instinct finally forcing him into action, even as Lance thrusts home again with an obscene grunt.

There's a hand on the back of Keith's neck, pushing between his shoulder blades, and he can feel Lance lean over him, until his breath is hot against Keith's ear. "_Damn_, sweetheart, I would have fucked you yesterday if I knew you were this tight and so desperate for it."

Keith bucks beneath Lance, each word a direct hit to Keith's libido. His fingers grab at the bed sheets, and his knees slide open as Lance rides him higher, forcing his thighs wide. The change in angle is overwhelming, and Keith lets out a moan when Lance's cock brushes past his prostate.

"That's it," Lance coaches, voice dripping honey sweet in Keith's ear, "I knew you'd want it. You may pretend you don't but I can tell you're made for this. I'm going ride you hard like a show pony, see what tricks you can do."

Keith's brain wants to deny this is hot. That he's so fucking hard it hurts; the way that Lance's cock splits him open, filling him up, whiting out every thought in his head, that he's needed this for so long. He fights, because it's easier to deny it than embrace it, and he hears Lance chuckle above him, switching his grip from pushing Keith down to putting a hand on his hip, dragging Keith roughly back onto his cock, earning a punched out whimper from Keith with every thrust.

"Do you think anyone realizes you're missing yet?" Lance says between thrusts. Voice rough, sharp breaths in Keith's ear. He starts to move with more intent, rolling his hips now. "Fuck, that's it," he says, "Let me in, sweetheart, nice and deep."

Keith whines, because it's all he manage right now, mouth open and panting, hands twisting in his ropes. He tries to crawl forward a little, but Lance just pulls him back onto his cock. "I'm going to keep you here, forever," Lance pants, "use you as my toy, fuck you when I want to. Shit, yeah. You like the idea of that, sweetheart? Chain you to the bed and ride you whenever I feel like it. Maybe if you're good I'll let you come."

The image of that sears itself into Keith's mind; his stomach flips with heat at the thought of being used like that. Part of him fights the animal urge to submit, the rest of him wants it so badly he can't think straight. Lance is moving faster now; hips rocking into Keith's, fucking him at a steadily increasing pace. Keith's knees slide open on the sheets; he can't support his weight, and now his cock is rubbing against the sheets with delicious friction. Can he come like this? Probably.

He can tell Lance is going to come; he's breathing hard, fingers digging bruisingly into Keith's hips, sliding over his sweat-slicked skin. Keith lets out a punched out moan on a particularly hard thrust and Lance takes that as permission to go harder, faster. "Fuck yeah, gonna come," Lance says. 

"No," Keith bites out quickly, bucking up in a last ditch effort to get free, panicked. "Don't, I need – " Lance _can't_ come yet. Keith needs the release, he _needs_ this, and if Lance comes now, he won't get it.

That hand is back between his shoulder blades, forcing Keith down, making him comply. "I think you misunderstand the situation," Lance says between breaths. "This has nothing to do with you, you don't get to call the shots. You're just my convenient hole, baby." 

Keith snarls, twisting to get away, but Lance still has him, has control of him. Keith _feels_ it when Lance orgasms; his cock twitches deep inside Keith, forcing sparks of pleasure along Keith's spine, through his belly. Then Lance fills him, hot and deep, painting Keith's insides with his come. He pulls out, stroking himself through it, ribbons of come falling across Keith's lower back and then with a final jerk, over his asshole.

Keith lets out a frustrated shout, and Lance laughs at him, watching as Keith manages to twist enough to glare at him over his shoulder. Lance stretches, arching his back and letting out a satisfied sigh. Then he tucks himself back in his sweat pants and slides a hand down Keith's heaving flank, patting his hip. 

"I’m going to kill you," Keith spits out. He pauses, licking his lips. Begging's worked before – maybe it's worth a try? "Please, you can't leave me like this, let me come."

Lance raises an eyebrow and smirks. "Maybe I'll let you come later. If you're good for me."

Keith watches in disbelief as Lance slides from the bed, rearranging his shirt and walking off to the bathroom. He – he can't seriously be thinking of leaving Keith like this, can he? Keith is tense, body shaking, his fists tightening in the bedsheets, clenching and releasing. He's wound up so tight; his body still expects to come, hasn't gotten the memo yet. His ass aches deliciously; he feels used, oh god yes, Lance's come sliding down the crack of his ass, over his balls. Keith wants to _scream_ with frustration.

Lance returns from the bathroom with a glass of water, and Keith submits for the moment to get what he wants; cool, delicious water sliding down his throat.

"Learning how to cooperate, I see," Lance notes smugly, removing the glass and returning to the bathroom. 

Keith flops his head down on the mattress, glaring at Lance when he comes back. At that's when Keith notices the strip of material in Lance's hands. He immediately goes tense; that's either a blindfold or a gag, and he wants nothing to do with either. He flicks his eyes up to meet Lance's, but can't read that sudden blank expression he's wearing. Lance twists the fabric in his hands, and Keith watches – can't look away – as Lance stalks toward him.

Keith scrambles, legs twisting as he tries to get his body under him, but Lance has fucked him good and hard; his legs are like jelly, lower back protesting. "No," he bites out as Lance grabs his ankle and drags him down the bed, until his arms are stretched out fully, wrists biting against the ropes. "No, Lance, don't – "

Lance has twisted the fabric into a large, soft rope, and he leans over Keith, slipping it between his teeth the next time Keith opens his mouth to protest and tying it roughly at the back of his neck. Now Keith is angry with himself, because it was obvious what Lance was going to do, wasn't it? He's an _idiot_. He's also an idiot who can't talk now, anything he says muffled by the fabric in his mouth.

Lance runs his fingers through Keith's hair, and Keith jerks away angrily. That makes Lance huff out a laugh. "Well, sweetheart, I'd love to stay and chat, but I have things to do," he says, ruffling Keith's hair a final time and walking towards the door. "Try to get some rest."

When the door closes Keith lets out a muffled shout of frustration. He did _not_ just walk away, leaving Keith on edge again, did he? He can't do that – Keith can't lie here, feeling Lance's come sliding over his ass, down his balls like this, and expect Keith to _wait_. He's not something to use at will, he doesn't belong to Lance. He _won't_ belong to Lance.

Keith's head drops down to the mattress. He's not… he can't… he can't wait like this.

Everything is silent except for the sound of his breathing, slightly faster than normal, a little laboured because of the gag. He is not going to break this easily. He isn't going to cry. His fists curl, short nails pricking against his palms. He is _not_ going to break.

His eyes feel heavy. He can wait this out. He can. He will wait this out. Beat Lance at his own game. Yeah, that's what he's gonna do, once he's maybe rested a little. He's not taking Lance's advice, either, he thinks. He's doing what he'd do anyway when he's bored; sleep for a bit. 

Just going to lay here and sleep. For a few minutes. Keith's eyes close, and stay closed, breath evening out finally as his body goes lax on the bed.

* * *

Lance runs down the stairs, two at a time, putting as much distance between him and Keith, 'cause otherwise he is going to go back up there and make Keith come, and that's not part of the plan. Keith is pushing Lance's buttons, left, right and center; actually, he's standing on Lance's buttons, and Lance is having a very hard time keeping himself in check and on plan. Especially after fucking Keith like that, ho shit. 

One of Lance's favourite things is the chase, the struggle, feeling a body fighting beneath him like that. He likes the domination, the final submission, and if push comes to shove he doesn't really mind if he's on the top or the bottom. Keith needs him to dominate though, and that's what Lance has done, following Keith's application to the letter.

Lance moves about the kitchen, chopping vegetables, sorting out the beginnings of a stew. He's got to keep Keith healthy, and that means feeding him. Literally. Keith is going to hate that, Lance thinks with a grin, but he's not going to leave Keith untied at any point. He's learnt very quickly that Keith is unpredictable; holding out longer over certain things than expected, caving quicker over others. He cries beautifully as well. Lance wonders if he can push Keith that hard again; watch him unravel.

Once the stew is prepared, he gets it in the oven, and then checks the camera feed in Keith's room. He's still sleeping; lying in the same position Lance left him in, so he's got time to play with. Next, Lance checks in with Pidge, making sure everything is running smoothly at their end. Once that's done, Lance showers, switching back into another set of sweat pants, but not bothering with his shirt. He's only going to get it sweaty when goes back upstairs to fuck Keith again. 

Speaking of… Lance glances at his phone. It's been two hours. A quick check of the camera shows Keith still sleeping, lying on his stomach. Perfect. Time to wake sleeping beauty again with round two.

Lance is careful to keep his footsteps silent on the bare floorboards as he approaches the bed. He considers just climbing on again, but he doesn't really like being predictable. Instead, he reaches down, fingers brushing against Keith's smooth skin on his ass, tugging his ass cheek to the side to look at Keith's asshole. Lance would love to get his tongue on Keith, in him, but there's no way in hell Keith is going to stay still for that, not in this scenario. Gently he mops up some of the drying lube from Keith's perineum, pushes two fingers into Keith's hole without warning, crooking his fingers.

Keith comes awake again with a muffled shout, voice blocked by the gag. He's like a livewire; all nerve endings, body taught, eyes blinking wide. Lance grabs him by the ankle, climbing onto the bed, twisting his fingers inside Keith while Keith bucks beneath him. Lance is instantly hard at the sight of Keith struggling; cock straining at his underwear. Keith's actions only force Lance's fingers in deeper – probably not what he intended – but Lance rewards him by brushing over his prostate. Keith shudders, feels that deep inside his body, muffling a moan when he drops his head onto the mattress, trying to hide his reaction.

Time to wind Keith up further. Lance uses his own legs to push Keith's thighs wider, until he's fully exposed, and he pulls his fingers free. Watches Keith's hole clench, suddenly empty. Lance can fix that. He pushes down his sweat pants, strokes some lube quickly over his cock, and lines up, pushing in. Keith is tense this time, expecting it, but the hard fucking earlier helps, and Keith is sloppy and already fucked out, and the resistance is minimal. 

"Fuck, you are perfect," Lance says, and he means it. "Gonna fuck you till I own you, sweetheart."

Keith pauses, and then starts struggling. He likes the dirty talk – but so does Lance. Lance pulls out, flips Keith over, and slides back in before Keith has time to really parse what just happened. He does arch beautifully off the bed when Lance bottoms out, and now Lance can get a hand under Keith's thigh, push his leg up, and get nice and deep, snapping his hips forward. 

Keith's wrists twist in his bindings above his head, and his eyes are blown wide, cheeks dusted with the flush of arousal. Lance glances down. This is what he wanted to see – Keith's beautiful cock, hard and leaking pre-come onto his heaving stomach, a true sign of how much he's enjoying it even if he's playing hard to get. 

"Don't go quiet on me now," Lance taunts breathlessly, watching Keith's eyes widen and then narrow angrily. "I wanna hear all those sweet, sweet little punched out noises you make when I ride you nice and hard. Hmm?"

Keith's reaction is perfect; he arches beneath Lance, arms straining in his ropes, head thrown back. Lance rolls his hips; he's figured out where Keith's prostate is and _oh hell_, he's gonna abuse that knowledge, hitting it every other stroke, loving the feel of Keith clenching around him. Keith can't seem to get a breath properly; he's panting, the hair at his forehead damp with sweat, forming little curls. Lance slides his other hand under Keith's leg, almost bends him in half as he fucks him.

"Do you remember the shape of me from earlier, Keith? How well I fit inside you? You're ruined for anyone else, sweetheart, you know that. You'll always think of me," Lance taunts, tone hard and brittle.

Keith looks murderous, but he can't manage much more than the odd moan, torn from his throat when Lance strikes hard. Keith is starting to tremble; he's close, even without a hand on his cock, and Lance can't have that; he has plans for Keith's next orgasm.

Lance pulls out, earning a muffled cry of frustration from Keith in the process. He drops Keith's legs, (avoids a kick to the stomach) and straddles his waist. Keith's eyes widen at Lance's position. Lance starts to stroke himself, nice, slow strokes so Keith can watch his every move. Keith bites down around the gag, and then shakes his head.

"No?" Lance repeats back, raising his eyebrow. His breath is coming quicker, and he reaches down to play with his balls, giving them a tug, letting Keith watch everything. "You don't get to tell me 'no'," Lance says. "You'll take what I give you, when I offer it."

Keith struggles beneath him, rolling his hips upward in a silent plea for more stimulation. Keith is beautiful like this, utterly ruined, trembling. Begging with his body even if he can't with words.

That thought sends a surge of pleasure through Lance, and his cock jumps in his hand. He squeezes, making a tighter fist to fuck into, chasing his orgasm. He's close. Keith's pretty face beneath him, his chest, nipples hard and peaked; Lance isn't sure where he wants to mark Keith this time.

"Fuck – " Lance is so close now, especially when Keith figures it out and starts to twist beneath him in frustration, little whimpers and moans escaping the gag.

Lance leans forward, stroking fast and hard, and yeah, he's gonna come, just as hard as he did the first time. He paints Keith's chest, then his neck, watching his come ribbon over Keith's pale skin, licking around the side of his jaw, getting in Keith's hair, even as Keith jerks his head to the side to avoid it.

He spends moments watching Keith, who's glaring at him, hips restless beneath Lance. Keith's figured out he's not going to get to come, so it's time to change up the game, Lance thinks, moving off of Keith. It's no fun if the game gets predictable. 

He tucks himself back in to his sweat pants, leans down to place a kiss over Keith's gag. Keith's not expecting that, letting out a surprised sound from beneath the gag, jerking away. Lance stands back up, trails his fingers through his come on Keith's heaving chest, down across his stomach, his navel. Keith's breathing picks up, shallow and fast the closer Lance gets to his cock, and Lance rewards him with the brush of his fingers along Keith's length, trailing over his balls. Keith closes his legs before Lance can get any further, and Lance pauses, turning to watch Keith's face. 

Keith's eyes are narrowed, jaw tense beneath the gag, daring Lance to do something as he slowly pulls himself upright along the bed, using his bound hands to help. He watches Lance, panting softly, long coltish legs tucked under him now as he leans against the headboard.

Keith's hit the defiant stage.

It's perfect, because Keith has just unknowingly played right into Lance's hands. 

"You think you can stop me from having what I want simply by closing your legs?" Lance asks, keeping his voice even so he's not leading the question. He reaches out and tugs the gag down. "Well?"

Keith works his jaw for a moment, eyes cast down. Then he looks up at Lance. "Fuck you."

"Hmm," Lance appears to consider things. It's a non-answer, one he can't really get any clues from, but it isn't going to change the outcome, regardless. Then, Lance turns and walks out of the room, shutting the door behind him. 

He pauses on the threshold for a moment, letting the moment stretch, knowing Keith is listening. He's probably freaking out, wondering what his punishment is going to be, and if Lance is going to come back into the room. After a few moments, Lance steps away, knowing Keith can hear him retreating. 

It's time to give Keith some space to think; to let him work himself up mentally until he's a mess again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are very much appreciated if you are reading this! I have most of the next chapter written, and then the final one still has to be completed. All encouragement is very much welcomed! <3


	5. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith takes his punishment, just as Lance intends.

_Fuck_. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Keith watches Lance stride from the room; strains to hear him on the other side of the door. Is he going to come back in? Or - wait, Lance is _leaving_. Has he gone to get something? 

Keith strains over as far as he can with the ropes tying him to the headboard. Sitting up as he is has put him in an awkward position, hands and wrists held just below shoulder height. His heartbeat picks up, because what if Lance has gone to get supplies? What else is he going to do to Keith?

Keith bites his lip, then soothes it with his tongue. His lips are dry from the gag, which is still hanging from his neck where Lance tugged it down. He reaches up, swipes at Lance's come which is still decorating his neck, his hair. Never mind the rest of it painting his chest. Keith is thoroughly marked with Lance's ownership at this point; there's even come from the first time Lance fucked him trickling out of his ass now he's upright. 

Keith hears a door slam downstairs somewhere, and jumps. He can't hear anything else though. Where the hell did Lance go? When nothing further happens, Keith allows himself to relax a little. He feels… lighter. He's never been fucked like that before, the experience so totally overwhelming, so mind-blowing he knows he'll be thinking about it for months, replaying and unpacking each emotion he'd felt. For those few moments, when he was pulled rudely from sleep, Lance sliding home in one long, slow, glide… Lance was _everything_ to Keith in those moments. What Lance said the second time – that Keith would always remember the shape of him – Keith's not sure if Lance meant those words, but he's not wrong. Keith will never forget this weekend, not as long as he lives. He shifts a little, dick filling out again at the thought of Lance fucking him over and over again whenever he feels like it. 

What if – what if Lance punishes him by _not_ fucking him? That's – he wouldn't, would he? Keith knows he would – Lance is contrary, but methodical. He's shown Keith he needs to play by his rules, and Keith has just flouted those rules brazenly. Maybe Lance has walked away because he was disappointed. Maybe he was angry and chose to walk away rather than do something he might regret later.

Keith swallows, throat dry. He'd love another glass of water, but if Lance doesn't come back soon, he'll have to wait. Unless he can get free of the restraints. He spends a moment looking over his wrists, bound in pretty red cotton rope. There are five or six thin bands of rope restraining him, twisted in some complicated way between his wrists and then tied off below. There's no way he's going to be able to get to the knot with his hands tied the way they are, and with his wrists as such he can't get his mouth anywhere near it either. Touché.

So, still completely at Lance's mercy, although that mercy appears that it might be a little on the thin side right now. Fuck, again. Keith slumps back against the headboard, resting his head and gazing at the ceiling. There's decorative plaster edging around the ceiling, so this must be a very old house, he thinks. Wide floorboards. He wonders where he is. He can't hear traffic; can't hear anything actually, not even something as innocuous as bird song at the moment. Where has Lance brought him?

He hears footsteps on the stairs; steady and slow. Keith straightens up; that can only be Lance. He moves further into the corner, apprehension mixing with desire, a thin thread of excitement pulling at his core. His dick fills out more, half hard now, and his breath starts to come shorter the nearer Lance gets. Keith can hear his footsteps on the landing, approaching the door – Keith lets out a wholly involuntary whine when Lance opens the door, eyes widening.

Lance stands there for a moment, letting Keith observe him. He's got a collar in one hand, and a bowl in the other. 

_Oh fuck, no_.

Lance smirks, a grin bursting over his face. "Don't worry sweetheart, I'm not going to force you to the floor and make you bark like a dog. Although that might be tempting." Lance moves to the table, putting the bowl down, and Keith's mouth waters as the smell of a thick, meaty stew permeates the room.

"Is that mine?" Keith asks, glance darting to Lance for confirmation.

Lance raises an eyebrow. "Hmm, it could be." He shows Keith the collar. It's black leather, has a ring attached to it for a padlock, and another to hold a chain, or rope. Lance stands before Keith, towering over him, forcing Keith to look upward, to crane his neck to observe his captor.

Keith knew it; Lance is going to make him choose again between the lesser of two evils. He's starting to hate this game. Lance drops the collar onto the bed, near Keith's feet, and leans over him, one hand on the top of the headboard, crowding Keith into the corner.

"See, this is how this is going to work, Keith," Lance says. He looks over at the stew pointedly, and then back to Keith. "You can have the stew, if you open your legs for me and show me that pretty cock of yours, and that tight little hole I fucked earlier."

Keith's stomach flips, Lance's words filthy and designed to hit Keith hard in all his weak spots. Keith bites off a moan, cock twitching between his closed legs. Lance grins, like he knows exactly what Keith's reaction just was.

"What's the collar for?" Keith asks. He's not stupid; Lance always has a condition.

Lance reaches out, fingers stroking lightly over Keith's knee; a promise. "The collar, sweetheart? I'm going to put that around your gorgeous neck, and chain you to the bed. Then I'm going to give you use of your hands, and you're going to spread your legs and show me just how you like to get yourself off. If you give me a good show, I'll give you the stew as a reward."

Oh fuck. Keith's mouth drops open, and he draws in a shuddering breath. He can feel his nipples harden instantly, his belly trembling, cock filling until it's straining against his belly.

"Yes or no?" Lance asks. 

Keith knows Lance will probably sit here and make Keith watch him eat the stew if he says no. He hasn't eaten since before the gym, which was… Keith has no idea. He's been too focused to be hungry, but, like the water, now there's food in reach he wants it. He also wants to come. Lance has fucked him twice, come twice himself, and Keith… hasn't. He doesn't think he can go through such extreme edging again; that was far, far too intense. 

So, Lance wants to watch Keith jerk himself off. Then he can eat. Doesn't sound so bad.

"Yes." Keith nods as well, just to get his point across. "I'm hungry."

Lance grins. "Oh, so am I, baby, so am I." Lance moves toward Keith, tugging at the gag still loose around his neck, pulling at the knot until it slips free. "Come here," Lance commands, gesturing closer.

Keith shuffles closer, and watches Lance pick up the collar. For a moment, Keith wonders if he's made a mistake in allowing Lance to collar him. That opens him up to a whole lot of other things Lance can do to him, including restraining him. For a moment, Keith resists, body going rigid, jerking away suddenly.

"You want to eat, yes?" Lance purrs, sliding his fingers through Keith's hair, giving it a tug until they are eye to eye, close enough to kiss. Keith glances down, watching the amused curve of Lance's lips, that generous mouth, then back up to Lance's eyes. Lance huffs out a laugh. "You want a kiss, sweetheart?"

"No," Keith bites out, looking away. He tries to ignore the flush of arousal and shame that paints warmth across his cheekbones. Fuck, this guy has him off kilter. Even more so when he feels the thick leather band close around his throat, locked into place with a loud click that echoes in the room. 

What's done is done, now. Keith is ever more at Lance's mercy, or lack thereof.

Lance is threading a length of chain through the loop at the front now, tugging on it to make sure it's held fast. He attaches the other end to a ring on the wall just above the headboard, observing Keith as he decides how much slack he's going to give him on the chain. Only enough to lay down apparently, Keith notes. He won't even be able to reach the end of the bed at a crawl. Shit.

Next, Lance pulls Keith's hands toward him, and starts working on the knot on his rope. In moments he has it apart, and he tugs, letting the entire arrangement go slack, slipping the rope off. Keith blinks; he'd have spent hours trying to get that apart, and yet the tie appears to be designed to come apart easily. He rubs at his wrists, noting the red marks around them from where he's struggled. 

"Pretty marks," Lance says. He walks across the room, grabbing the chair Keith was sitting in yesterday. He brings it over, places it directly in front of Keith, near the headboard of the bed. He sits down and stretches out his legs, crossing them at the ankle, hands folded in his lap. 

Keith stares at him, feeling exposed suddenly, embarrassment curling unpleasantly. 

"We had a deal, did we not?" Lance says. "Or have you changed your mind? If you have – " he sits up, leans forward, placing an elbow on each knee and staring Keith down, "If you have changed your mind, there's a forfeit."

Keith doesn't want to even contemplate that that might be. "N-no," he stutters. "I'll – I'll do it."

"Good." Lance leans back in the chair again. "I’m waiting."

Keith swallows, throat dry with nervousness. He's never jacked off in front of someone else. Fucking is different, it's a partner sport. Jerking off is private. It sounds stupid when he thinks it like that, but that's just how he is. Lance will be the first person to know how Keith touches himself when he's alone, when he's in the dark and he doesn't have to worry about impressing anyone, or worry about the sounds he might make. Keith sits up a little, shifting to the wall along the side of the bed, leaning against it with his legs pulled up to his chest, ankles crossed. Lance doesn't take his eyes off Keith, watching him like a hawk, expression intense. It makes Keith's cock harder, being under that gaze; being observed.

Keith takes in a shuddering breath. He can do this. Slowly, he lets his hands fall to the side, and uncrosses his ankles, sliding his feet along the mattress a little way. He tightens his fingers in the sheets, and then lets his knees hesitantly fall open, until Lance can see everything and Keith is fully exposed; mind and body.

"Such a beautiful cock," Lance praises. "You hard just for me?"

Keith's cock twitches at the praise, a trickle of pre-come beading at the head. Keith jerks his head up, watching Lance. He looks smug, like he just learnt something new that's probably not going to bode well for Keith later.

"Spread your legs wider, sweetheart," Lance says. "Show me that tight hole of yours." 

Keith flushes at the words, but he slides his legs open a little more, exposing himself fully to Lance. It's not like Lance hasn't seen it all before; there's just something about this whole thing that makes Keith feel vulnerable, exposed. Stripped away and bare. 

Lance tosses the bottle of lube at him and raises an eyebrow. Keith shifts his leg and leans forward to grab it, listening to the chain around the collar chink musically as he moves. He glances at the wall, where the chain is looped and then back to the lube. Not making eye contact with Lance as he squeezes out a little of the lube into his palm. He can do this. He can. He wraps his hand around his cock, slicking himself up. The glide feels good on his sensitive skin, and he reaches down to the base and squeezes a little, other hand slipping down to play with his balls as he starts to stroke himself. 

"Don't close your eyes," Lance commands. "You're here, with me. You promised _me_ a private show."

_Fuck_. Of course Lance wasn’t going to let Keith retreat to some headspace where he could just jack off and get it done. Keith makes reluctant eye contact with Lance, cheeks coloring with embarrassment even as his breath shortens. Fuck, his hand feels good on his cock, and he smooths his thumb around the crown, over the head, and then strokes down, squeezing again before repeating it. He thrusts up into his palm a little, hips ticking forward, feet sliding over the mattress as he falls into a rhythm. He watches Lance watch him, the way his glance flicks down to Keith's hand where he plays with his balls, then back to his cock. The lube makes a slick sound over Keith's cock, an obscene noise with every thrust, every push of his hips into his hand. Keith's thighs start to tremble, breath becoming ragged, and still Lance never looks away, cheeks flushing, his own cock filling out in those sweatpants, a visible sign of Lance's interest. 

Keith takes his hand from his balls, stroking up over his chest, watching as Lance follows the movement. He smooths his fingers over a nipple, biting his lip against the tingling sensation that travels straight to the base of his dick. He tugs on it a little harder, mouth falling open on a moan as he jacks himself off. Lance's lips are parted now, and Keith watches him slip a hand over the front of his sweatpants, pressing down. That sends lust skyrocketing through Keith and he pinches his nipple hard, arching his back at the sharp shock of pain and pleasure.

"You look _good_, sweetheart," Lance coos. "Gonna show me how wrecked you can get yourself?"

Keith bites out a moan, rich and full, back arching. Shit, he's close. There's one thing he needs though to get off; Lance seems to sense he's holding something back. Keith's resolve crumbles in his rush to lube up his other fingers for the finale. He keeps his hand on his cock, stroking firmly but slowing the pace, savouring the feel of his fingers circling his asshole, dipping in to tease himself before pulling out. Pushing his finger in to the knuckle, then out, hips rocking down on to one, then two fingers, because he's loose from being fucked so hard earlier.

Lance is flushed, clearly aroused, but he's not touching himself, he's watching Keith like a hawk, ignoring his own erection for now. Keith's almost disappointed; he wanted to see Lance loose his cool, but apparently his willpower is stronger than Keith's.

Keith has a nice rhythm going now, rocking down onto his fingers, thrusting into his fist. His head drops back against the wall, eyes partly closing until he remembers Lance told him not to. He's going to come, he can feel it in the base of dick, behind his balls, drawn up tight. His thighs tremble, hips stuttering, breath short in his throat –

"Give me another finger in that pretty ass, Keith," Lance instructs. "I want you to fuck yourself with your fingers like I'd fuck you with mine."

"Oh god," Keith bites out; he can't help it. He can't even protest, just struggles to make his body obey, arching his back with a moan when he gets a third finger in and sinks down onto it. He thrusts a couple of times, it feels so full, he's so stretched – not quite as much as Lance's cock would, but it's enough for Keith to imagine.

"You thinking about me fucking you, sweetheart?" Lance asks knowingly. "You just have to ask and I'll give you anything you want."

Keith's on overload; he can't take the dual stimulus any longer in his ass and on his cock. Lance's words rocket straight to his dick too, and Keith's locks up with a punched out cry, ropes of come shooting over his stomach and chest as he strokes himself through it, thrusting his fingers deep and holding them there, rocking down needily onto them to prolong the pleasure. He keeps stroking his cock, only slowing down when the final bursts of pleasure from his orgasm recede. 

He slumps down then, fucked out and high, legs spread wide and trembling with aftershocks. Lance could do anything to him right now; Keith wouldn't have the energy to fight back. Judging by the look on Lance's face, he knows it, but he's choosing not to right now. That should worry Keith, but he's too worn out to care.

Lance is watching him still, biting his lip, allowing his gaze to wander over Keith's body. Keith slowly removes his fingers from his ass and brings his legs back together, waiting for Lance to tell him to stop, but he says nothing, only continues to watch Keith intently.

They stare at each other for a moment; the only sound in the room the harsh rasp of Keith's breath as it slows, returning to normal. Then Lance surges forward out of the chair, fingers sliding between Keith's thighs, prying them apart as he kneels on the mattress between Keith's legs. Surprised by the sudden movement, Keith rocks backward and meets the wall behind him, nowhere left to go. Lance has his collar firmly grasped in his fingers, and he tugs on it, pulling Keith closer until Lance's breath is hot against his ear.

"Next time you deny me what's between your thighs, sweetheart, I'll chain a spreader bar between your ankles," he threatens in a hot whisper. "I'll keep those legs spread nice and wide, ready to slip between them whenever I feel like it. To fuck you whenever I want to. My favourite hole, nice and tight." 

The noise Keith makes is supposed to be a denial, but it comes out broken and needy, and he can feel Lance's generous lips raise at the corner in a smirk, like he knows Keith's only lying to himself.

Keith hears the rattle of the chain; feels it as Lance must wrap a hand around it, tugging Keith forward to the edge of the bed whether he wants to follow or not. Lance pulls harder, until he's got Keith right at the full length of it, sat on the edge of the bed. Lance stands between Keith's legs, looking down on him, and Keith feels the nudge of his fingers under his chin, forcing him to look upward. Keith meets Lance's eyes, but his eyes are drawn down to the outline of Lance's cock against the thin fabric of his sweatpants. Lance is still half hard from watching Keith get himself off; and this is the first time Keith has really gotten a good look. No wonder his ass is tender, he thinks, if Lance is this generously proportioned. He fills his mouth fill with saliva at the thought of taking that into his mouth, and he can feel a whine try to crawl its way up his throat. 

"See something you like?" Lance says with a mocking laugh, pulling on the chain that leads to the collar, making it rattle. "You look hungry. Perhaps you'd like this –" he reaches out with his free hand to grab at his erection, the gesture lewd and filthy, "– instead of food?"

At this point there's only one thing Keith wants, and that's the bowl of stew Lance brought in earlier. He cooperated with this bastard so he could eat, after all. Keith shakes his head.

"What's that, baby?" Lance leans down. "I didn't hear you."

"You said I could eat," Keith bites out. He drops eye contact; hopes the submission will be enough to appease his captor. 

"I said you could eat if you gave me a good show," Lance reminds him. "Do you feel you did your best for me, Keith?"

Keith feels emotion suddenly bubble up in his throat, both rough and heated. He realizes he's blinking back tears, casting desperate glances at the bowl on the side table. He had lasted so much longer the other night – yesterday – _whenever_ it was, Keith can't remember, time seems elastic here in this liminal space. It took hours for him to fold, to surrender, and here he is now; emotional, with hot tears spilling down his face in only moments. "You _promised_," he gasps out, voice raspy. He risks a quick look at Lance, who is watching him intently, eyes sparking with something Keith can't put a name to. 

He reaches out and brushes a tear away from Keith's cheek with his thumb. "So pretty," he murmurs. Lance moves then; let's go of the chain and walks toward the table. He picks up the bowl and comes back, handing it to Keith who takes it in both hands, feeling the warmth of the stew soak through the china into his fingers.

Lance pulls the chair close enough that he's sitting almost between Keith's spread legs, knees touching. The chair is the same height as the bed, so Lance still has a couple of inches of height over him. He holds up the spoon and smirks at Keith, ladling some of the stew onto the spoon. He leans forward, reaching out with the tip of his tongue to test the temperature and nodding, as if to himself. "Open up, sweetheart."

* * *

The look on Keith's face once he figures out what Lance wants is priceless. Surprise wars with humiliation across the flush of Keith's tearstained cheeks.

"I can feed myself; I'm not a child," Keith says petulantly.

Lance grins again. He loves watching how Keith reacts to the 'choices' he's forced to make. They are just that; choices. It's up to Keith what he decides in the end, Lance is only giving him options. "Of course you're not a child," Lance replies. "You do, however, belong to me, so you will cooperate. I said I would feed you, did I not?"

He waits, watching as Keith works through it, shoulders dropping finally in submission. His grip on the bowl never wavers though, fingers locked tight around it. Lance leans forward again with the spoon, and Keith tries to meet him halfway, mouth parting. He comes up short against the length of chain; the leather of the collar bites into his throat when he realizes he can't actually lean forward any further. Lance rests one hand on one of Keith's knees, he feels the way Keith's muscles tighten and flutter under his fingertips. He's forced to wait for Lance to lean closer, to literally spoon feed him the stew.

Keith's skin flushes beautifully with embarrassment, but he still swallows the stew, making a sound of pleasure deep at the back of his throat. Lance's hard-on, which had started to finally go down, returns with a pulse of heated interest at the sound Keith makes. "Like my cooking, huh?" Lance smirks, feeding him another spoonful.

Keith's hunger soon overrides his shame. Most of the bowl is gone and Keith doesn’t seem to care any longer that he's chained and essentially helpless to Lance's whims. Lance simply watches the emotions play across Keith's face; it's clear he's tired, probably exhausted. You could argue Keith's been lying around for most of the afternoon and evening, but Lance has fucked him twice mercilessly and then forced him to get himself off. The physicality of it is hard; the emotional impact is still in play from the mindfuck, and Keith is in deep. He held out for a remarkable length of time yesterday before he broke; today, he's breaking that much faster. It's taking less time and effort to get him to where Lance wants him to be.

Lance wants Keith in a specific headspace, ready for tomorrow. It's the last day in scene, and Lance has planned carefully for it. If he slips, if he makes an error, Keith won't fall for it. And Lance has never wanted to give someone what they wanted so badly as this man in front of him. Lance _won't_ fuck up now, won't drop the ball on what has been such an incredible experience so far – for both of them.

Keith finishes the last mouthful of stew, waiting patiently with eyes half-lidded with exhaustion as Lance feeds it to him. The stew is carb heavy, and judging by the way Keith seems to be swaying a little, he's not going to be awake for long. Lance takes the bowl, licks the spoon (because it's damn good stew, even if he did make it) and sets it on the table. He moves the chair back to where it was before, and places himself back between Keith's legs, staring down at him. "That wasn’t so hard, was it?" he asks with a raised eyebrow. "Time for desert, I think."

When Keith doesn't respond, he lifts his chin with his fingers, gripping tight enough to wake Keith up and get him to focus. Those eyes sharpen on him, appraise him, and it sends a trickle of excitement down Lance's spine. When he reaches for the waistband of his sweatpants, pushes them down to expose his half hard cock, Keith barely reacts. Lance strokes his thumb across Keith's plump bottom lip, lets him part them with his thumb, slip his finger inside his mouth. He simply watches as Lance strokes his cock with his free hand, until he's aching hard.

Lance wants to feel that heat; he pushes between Keith's unresisting lips. Slides his hands into Keith's hair and tugs, directing him to suck until Keith's straining to reach Lance's cock, collar tight because there's not enough chain. Despite his exhaustion, Keith wants it. His fingers fist against the sheets, his body leans forward as much as he can. He makes a sound around Lance's cock, and Lances reaches out with a hand to press against Keith's throat, beneath the collar, to feel the sound that he makes tremble against his fingers.

Lance isn't trying to last long here; there's no finesse to the jerk of his hips. It's the feel of Keith's mouth he craves, his heat. Keith's submission is what does it finally, and Lance spills. It's messy; come sliding over Keith's tongue, his lips, over his cheek. Keith takes it all, lets Lance paint his face with his mark of ownership. And when Lance is done, Keith falls backward onto the bed, legs and arms spread, hair like a halo beneath him, eyes slipping shut, fading away into sleep.

Keith is a wreck, body painted with Lance's come, both from now and from before. His hips are patterned with tiny bruises from Lance's fingertips – from when he fucked him. His wrists are slightly marked from the rope, evidence of Keith's struggles. 

Lance has never, ever seen anything like it, never seen anything so beautiful in his life as Keith is at that moment.

He's going to reward Keith tomorrow, give him everything he wants. 

It's a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are very much appreciated! We are in the home stretch, now. Next should be the last chapter! <3


	6. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance pushes Keith to his limits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, I think I just wrote 7k of total smut. Whoops. Still, I'll be sorry to see this go. It's been a great ride; this is something I've wanted to write for years but never found the right pairing or dynamic. So this is now basically 30k of filthy, filthy porn. I'm so proud of myself.
> 
> I might at some point revisit this universe, so if you have suggestions or things you'd like to see you can find me on tumblr as Caeseria :)
> 
> Thank you for coming with me on this wild ride! <3<3

Keith comes awake slowly, gently; unlike yesterday, when he was pinned beneath a hard body and a hard, driving cock that showed him no mercy. That thought sends a dark thrill through Keith, and it takes him moments to realize it's not just his imagination fueling his desire, but a vibration from deep in his core. His eyelids flutter open, and he lets out a shaky breath that hitches on a moan when the vibrations suddenly increase and peak. Keith arches off the bed, a bitten off cry tearing from his throat at the sensation of _toomuchtoomuchtoomuch _that shakes through him before rapidly retreating again to a background hum. 

He waits a few moments until he's sure the overwhelming pleasure isn't going to return, and then slides his gaze to the side. Lance is sitting there, watching him, his generous mouth quirked up at the corner in a smirk, eyebrow raised. In his hand is a remote – probably belongs to the vibe inside him - and that's what Keith chooses to fix on, licking his lips nervously. He notes Lance's bracelet, lion charm swinging gently from the braid around his wrist. His thumb hovering over the button on the remote. Lance strokes his finger over the button and Keith tenses, breath caught in his throat as he looks up, meets Lance's eyes as he tries to predict what Lance is going to do next.

The vibration deep in his core continues, steady, unrelenting, and Keith can feel his inner muscles tensing, tightening slowly, his hips aching as he restlessly slides one foot along the mattress. His hands are bound above his head again, and Lance has removed his collar at some point. 

"You're fascinating to watch," Lance says conversationally, pulling Keith's focus back to him. "When you're unconscious you still move, body and mind always restless." He stands up, towering over the bed, over Keith, and he leans down, one hand planted each side of Keith's chest, knee coming to rest on the bed next to his hip. "How much will I have to put you through to finally make you break, I wonder? Will you cry? Or maybe beg me to stop before it all becomes so overwhelming you simply can't cope?"

Keith stares up at Lance, mouth parted in shock at his words. Each one is like a punch to the gut; intense, breathtaking, shattering. 

The pleasure is getting a little more insistent now, that never ending, steady vibration starting to build, starting to make Keith's breath hitch. Lance is watching his face, glancing down at Keith's body occasionally. "See something you like?" Keith bites out, still trying for bravado.

Lance huffs out a laugh, leans down slowly, until his lips are almost touching the shell of Keith's ear. "Always, sweetheart." He moves backward, until he's sitting on the end of the bed near Keith's feet. He strokes his hand over Keith's ankle; a soothing gesture at odds with the building pleasure deep inside Keith. 

His fingers tighten around Keith's ankle, his grip sudden and inflexible, forcing Keith to stay stretched in place. 

"Let's see how far we can go together, shall we? Let's see if I can make you break, finally."

* * *

Lance is true to his word, as usual. He pushes Keith ruthlessly to the edge, and then backs off, all the while whispering encouragement in Keith's ear. He can tell Keith wants to shut his words out, but he's conditioned to it now, has learnt to listen for Lance's whispers, to crave them even as Lance pushes his body to its limits. Limits that keep moving, because Keith is learning to take more, to have moments when he's even greedy for the punishment, the pleasure. When he should be fighting it, his body wants to surrender. Lance can see it in the lines of his body, the way he struggles. It's a beautiful thing to observe.

Once Lance has pushed Keith to the edge for the second time, withheld his orgasm until Keith is dreading it, fighting the edge of release, Lance switches off the vibe with the remote. Keith's body rolls like a wave, a frustrated whine echoing around the room, tears pricking the corner of his eyes.

Lance grabs Keith by the chin and grips hard, until those eyes finally focus on him, narrowing in frustration. "Don't test me, love," he cautions. "You'll get your pleasure on my command and not before. Don't get too comfortable."

He reaches down, sliding his hand over Keith's trembling stomach, his hip, between his thighs. Keith tenses, knees locked, but he's learnt his previous lesson well and doesn't close them. Lance trails his fingers over Keith's straining cock, caressing his balls, his perineum, till he reaches his hole. Teases at Keith's rim, watching him all the while. Keith doesn't move; Lance can tell his body wants to react, but Keith remains passive – for now. With a grin, Lance twists his fingers in the string that hangs from the vibe and gently pulls, a small tug. He's not going to pull it out hard and fast; he wants Keith to hold onto the remains of his pleasure for what's to come next. He wants Keith to feel empty, to need to be filled. That's the fun part. He pulls the toy out slowly. Keith knows to relax, to let this happen, and he does, letting out a shuddering sigh when the toy is free.

"Good boy," Lance encourages, stroking his hand up Keith's inner thigh. He doesn't miss the way Keith's hips roll minutely before he stops the gesture. "I think you need a shower," Lance says. "As much as I like you dirty, I think I'll like you clean so I can make another mess of you."

Keith's dazed with the pleasure that's probably still fizzing through his body, and he seems pliant and amenable to Lance's whims for the moment. Lance narrows his eyes as he reaches up to release Keith's hands from the restraints; he knows this game, he's seen it a hundred times, but Keith is so much fun. He thinks he's being good, playing along to get something he wants later. Something he thinks he can persuade Lance to give him.

Lance is going to give it to him _good_, oh hell yes.

"Are you going to behave if I leave you untied?" Lance asks, pulling Keith to his feet. Keith staggers a little, not used to being upright much the last couple of days. "Do you need me to carry you?"

Despite the game, Lance needs to make sure Keith is healthy, and that he's not in danger. Keith is a normal guy that works out; he's strong, and he should regain his footing quickly. Still, Lance won't restrain a sub somewhere like the bathroom where there's a danger he could hurt himself. It's Lance's job to keep him safe, but he still takes precautions, never allows himself to relax. If Keith slips with his hands tied, he can't break his own fall.

Keith rallies quickly by the time they reach the en suite bathroom. It has the basics; a claw tub bath with a shower, and a vanity with a large mirror over it. Lance pushes Keith toward the shower, shutting and locking the door behind them, pocketing the key in his sweatpants. He leans against the counter and watches Keith step into the shower, glancing over his shoulder like he's expecting Lance to do something. Lance gives him a grin and a wink, just to throw him off, and then pulls out his phone. He watches Keith lather up, scrub off the evidence of Lance's ownership, the results of Keith's submission. Lance can't wait to mark him up again.

He looks at the time; he's got a little bit of leeway to play with Keith before he puts the final pieces into play.

Keith is a wet dream, for sure. A strong body, beautiful to look at. Even better with the water sliding over his back, across his pecs and down that firm stomach to his cock, still half-hard, nestled amongst a sparse trail of hair before the droplets slide over his thighs. Keith kickboxes almost every day – Lance remembers reading that in the info Pidge had collected – and that explains some of his whipcord strong physique.

Lance gives himself a mental shake when Keith turns of the water and climbs out of the tub. Lance reaches for the towel, holding it up and beckoning at Keith with a finger. Keith frowns, but steps toward Lance carefully, as if he's not sure if Lance is going to use his proximity against him. Keith's smart; he'd be right.

"Come on over, sweetheart," Lance says. "Let's get you dry." 

"I can do it myself." Keith's voice is gravelly; it breaks on the last word. He clenches his jaw, hands fisting at his sides.

Lance raises an eyebrow. "You wanna fight me over this, Keith?" Lance says, keeping his voice even, showing no inflection. He wants Keith to read what he wants into it. Is lance angry? Disappointed? "You can chose to come over here now, or you can forfeit. Your decision, but you know there are always consequences."

Keith wavers for a moment, then drops his gaze to the floor. He pads over to Lance, who grabs him by the hips, spinning him until he's pressed up against the vanity and Lance can crowd him in from behind. Lance gets both hands on Keith's hips, just as Keith breaks his momentum by planting his hands on the vanity counter. When he meets Lance's gaze in the mirror, Keith's eyes are like saucers, wide with momentary surprise, lips parted. Lance leans in, lips _ohsoclose_ to Keith's ear, and grins. 

"Shall we play another game?" Lance presses forward, rolling his hips, enjoying the way Keith struggles against him, one hand wrapping around Lance's wrist as if to try to stop him. God, Lance wants to fuck him _so_ badly, but he's gonna have to wait. Waiting always brings the best rewards.

"What if I say no?" Keith's gaze hardens in the mirror.

Lance can feel himself fill out in his sweatpants; Keith's defiance never seems to get old, only pushes Lance to the edge quicker. He makes a show of nuzzling into Keith's neck, keeping eye contact through the mirror. "You can say no, darling," Lance tightens his grip on Keith's hips and pulls him backward onto his clothed cock, "doesn't mean I'm gonna listen."

Lance can see the triumph in his own expression when Keith's cock hardens at his words, fully erect now. Lance strokes his hand over Keith's hip, over the swell of his ass, pausing to watch Keith tense beneath his touch. He kicks Keith's legs apart, stepping between them fully, pushing his palm into Keith's lower back, angling him over the counter. "Stay," he commands, reaching for the lube in a side drawer, slicking his fingers up.

Keith's trembling, head hanging down, fingers curling against the countertop, but he's not stopping Lance, not fighting it when Lance strokes between his cheeks, parts them to get a good look. He sinks one finger in easily, loving the way Keith's body begs for it, back arching just a little. Keith's loose from the vibe still and Lance can easily add another finger in moments, pressing deep. This isn't the best angle for what he intends, but providing he can keep Keith off balance mentally and emotionally it should be fine.

He twists his wrist, searching. Nuzzling into Keith's damp hair at the side of his neck, watching Keith's expression. His eyes have slid shut, his lips still parted, but other than the occasional shudder as Lance thrusts his fingers he's blank. Retreating. 

Lance can't have that.

He pushes in and holds deep; waits for Keith's eyes to flutter open in confusion. Then angles his fingers, tips seeking out a particular area… _there_. He strokes gently, watching as Keith takes a shuddering breath, eyes widening as his body shakes. Lance lets the shit eating grin show on his face. He pushes – not hard – but the pressure builds, and Keith shakes again, a thin whine caught in his throat. They both know what Lance is doing – playing with Keith's prostate – but Keith doesn't fully appreciate what he's got himself into quite yet. Lance has spent three days finding every spot that drives Keith nuts, and using it against him. He's been saving this one for now and he is going to make Keith beg him to stop, fuck yes. Keith's spent all weekend bargaining to be allowed to come, and now Lance is gonna turn that around on him.

He continues to stroke, changing up the pressure, the motions of his fingertips. Building Keith's orgasm slowly, until Keith is panting, his bottom lip red from being bitten, color hectic across his cheekbones. His eyes are lidded, pupils blown. He has a small mark on his neck from the collar – Lance is a little disappointed in himself for allowing that to happen – and his wrists are still red from the ropes. He has the imprint of Lance's fingertips on his hips, a pattern of little bruises that make Lance's cock pulse at the thought of how they were made. Keith is a map; a canvas that details his own pleasure, and Lance's, in expressive detail.

Keith is beginning to squirm now, and Lance tightens his grip on Keith's hip to keep him in place. Keith's gaze flickers up to Lance's. He's chanting something under his breath, body trembling. It takes Lance a minute to place what he saying: a litany of _pleasedon'tstopohgodpleasedon'tstop._ His body is pulling Lance in; his fingers slide in easily and if he wanted he could slip a third inside, but he's not trying to fill Keith up, he wants to play with him instead. 

"You wanna release, sweetheart?" Lance presses back in, stroking circles over Keith's prostate. He can feel it swelling, and grins. "You gonna come for me like a good boy?"

Keith is panting hard now; he still doesn't believe Lance is going to let him come. His body tightens beneath Lance's, poised between one breath and the next, and then Lance strokes deep inside Keith and Keith is coming, his entire body shaking while Lance pushes his fingers deep and holds there. Keith comes with a shout; of ecstasy and of surprise, both emotions written across his face. He doesn't ejaculate; he'd need direct stimulation on his cock for that. Lance loves prostate orgasms. They feel different than a regular one; more of a full-body sensation rather than confined to one area. Apart from feeling amazing, you can have a chain of them, providing you don't touch your cock. 

Keith slumps down against the counter, body shaking. He's like a puppet with his strings cut. Lance lets him have a moment, stroking his hand up Keith's spine, soothing him. Then he starts to thrust his fingers again. For the moment he stays away from Keith's prostate, confines himself to just slow thrusts, fucking him with his fingers. Keith squirms a little, body tensing. "Stop, please," he breathes out. "Too much, too soon."

Lance laughs, a soft, mocking sound that makes Keith freeze beneath him. "I thought you wanted to come?" Lance says. "You begged me to come, earlier. I'm only giving you want you want." He crooks his finger just enough to brush over Keith's prostate again and Keith whimpers, ass squeezing around his fingers like he's trying to force Lance from his body.

"Don't –"

Lance threads his other hand in Keith's hair and drags him up until he's arched backward, hands scrabbling at the countertop for balance. He tightens his grip, feels Keith clench around him when he pulls his hair. _Right, that's one of Keith's buttons, isn't it?_ He tugs, and Keith's cock twitches, enough to be noticeable. 

"Watch yourself in the mirror, sweetheart," Lance demands. "You're gorgeous when you fall apart for me. I like watching you bend to my will like this. Have you any way I want, when I want. As many times as I want."

Lance begins to build the pleasure once more, thrusting in with his fingers and then concentrating on Keith's prostate. Keith struggles against the grip on his hair, trying to reach behind him to grab Lance's wrist. The struggle winds them both up, until Lance feels like he really needs to keep a lid on his libido or risk embarrassing himself. Keith is teetering on the edge again; it's not hard to force him into orgasm once more, his body greedy for it. 

This time when he comes, Keith struggles, breath stuttering in his throat, tears welling at the corners of his eyes. He's beautiful like this. 

Keith's gaze is unfocused in the mirror now, exhaustion eating at him. Lance has forced him through denial, and then a glut of pleasure, and that's only today. His body is pliant, lax. Completely at Lance's mercy, at last. 

Keith is right where Lance wants him.

And then Lance's phone rings, right on schedule.

* * *

"Stay here, and don't go anywhere."

Those are Lance's last words as he helps Keith slide to the floor. Keith backs himself into the corner where the vanity meets the wall, and brings his knees up, wrapping his arms around them.

"Do you understand?" Lance asks him, crouching down.

Keith nods. He's been fucked senseless, high on orgasm, body tingling all over. He has just enough sense to parse what Lance is saying and no more. He watches through a haze as Lance leaves, still talking on the phone, and locks him inside the bathroom.

Keith takes a shuddering, deep breath, tries to focus. He – _Jesus_, he's never had an orgasm like it before. Ever. He's been fucked sure, jerked himself off with a toy in his ass to reach his prostate, but it (stupidly) never occurred to him to try for a prostate orgasm on its own, with no other stimulation. He feels hyped up but fuzzy, forced rapidly through two orgasms by Lance without ejaculating. If he touched himself right now, Keith is pretty sure he'd probably come. In fact, his body still feels on edge – it's weird, because he's had two orgasms, but they aren't regular ones. His cock needs the attention, his body wants to feel that rush he gets when he releases. The problem is, Lance didn't tell him he could come. He told him to wait.

He can still feel trembles through his body, his legs weak, hips loose. He knows Lance isn't done with him, has only just started. Where did he go?

_Stay here, and don't go anywhere_

It must be important, right, if Lance has left him alone?

_Stay here, don't go anywhere_

Keith stares at his hands, shaking a little. Stares at the rug on the floor for a moment.

_Stay here_

For the first time in three days, he's not restrained.

_Don't go anywhere_

No cuffs. No collar. No pretty red rope around his wrists.

_Stay here_

_Don't go anywhere_

Keith gets to his feet. Where is Lance? What is he doing that is so important?

_Don't go anywhere_

Keith could… he could feasibly pick the lock. Locks are easy. He grew up poor, in the desert for Christ's sake.

_Don't go anywhere_

It would child's play. Keith could pick a lock by the time he was seven years old.

He rummages in one of the vanity drawers. Glances up, into the mirror, remembers Lance's mocking smile against his neck while he fucked him into orgasm with those long, elegant fingers of his.

_Don't go anywhere_

Keith looks down. Licks his lips. Listens. Nothing. He can hear talking outside the window, maybe down in the driveway? He finds two bobby pins in the drawer. Bingo.

_Stay here_

In seconds he has the first pin bent and in the keyhole, wiggling it around. Then he bends it to the side. Takes another pin and opens it a little.

_Stay here_

Sticks the second pin in, above the first, wiggles that. Finds the resistance. Pushes down. Listens for the click.

_Don't go anywhere_

Feels the final pin drop and twists the first bobby pin to the right. Finesses it a little – there.

_Don't go anywhere_

He's free.

_Don't - _

Keith is out before he can think about the consequences. Slides to a stop outside a bedroom – _need pants, need pants, need_ – found them. Slips on a pair of joggers, just a little too large but he's not gonna worry about that. Rushes down the stairs, ignoring the way his hips ache, his core twinges. 

He slows. Listens. Lance is outside, down the hallway. He can hear another voice, talking. A delivery? Doesn't matter. Slowly he moves across the hall, not wanting to draw attention with a quick movement. He sees the backdoor.

_Don't go anywhere_

_Stay here_

The door is open.

Keith has enough presence of mind to grab a pair of sneakers, and then he's gone, out the door.

He's free.

He slips out of the side door of the house, moving quickly but quietly. 

Logic tells him to keep off the gravel of the driveway, and it also tells him to get into the cover of the trees straight away; to vanish. The reality is far different from cold logic. Keith's heart is pounding, adrenaline pushing hard enough that he can't think logically. His breathing is too loud. His legs are tingling from the sudden use. A weird mixture of excitement and terror courses through him, pushing him harder as he slips into the forest that surrounds the property. It's only a matter of time before Lance figures out he's not where he should be; that he's not waiting like the good boy he's supposed to be. If – _when_ – when Lance catches him, Keith will pay, of that he has no doubt. 

It's really just a question of how deep Lance's punishment is going to go, so Keith runs until he can't any more, adrenaline peaking as he leans against a tree, trying to get his bearings. He remembers some survival stuff from Garrison training before he got booted, something about breathing through your mouth so the sound doesn't carry? Maybe? He can't remember, can't think, his thoughts scattered with the thought that Lance could be approaching at any second, from any angle, and Keith wouldn't have a clue. He thinks back to that first night when Lance had taken him down with the dart – will Lance do that again? Or he going to make it more personal? More… hands-on?

Fuck, how long has he been running for? How much time has passed?

He hears a twig snap in the distance. The sound is like a gunshot going off, loud and echoing through the trees, and Keith clamps his hand over his mouth, trying to stifle the yelp that threatens to burst from his mouth. He's breathing like he can't get enough air, chest heaving, the panic rising. He remembers his first impressions of Lance: a military man, a tracker, a professional. That this guy knows what he's doing, knows how to track and corner his prey with shocking ease. 

Keith has played right into Lance's hands; he understands that now. Keith has _always_ been prey to Lance, at the mercy of his whims and his choices, his pleasure and his pain.

Adrenaline pumps through Keith's body; he feels almost high from it. Mixed with a strange cocktail of terror and excitement, Keith can't think straight.

There's another sound of a snapping twig. It's closer now.

_Stay here, and don’t go anywhere_

Keith pushes his back against the tree, the rough bite of the bark hardly noticeable as Keith tries to reason this out. Does he try to stay still, or should he run?

"I'm gonna find you, Keith." Lance's voice, rough with implied threat, carries through the forest but it's hard to tell from which direction. "Gonna make you pay for disobeying me."

_Stay here_

Keith whimpers behind his hand.

_Don't go anywhere_

Keith pushes off the tree and sprints for it, as fast as his exhausted body will let him. There's movement from the left, sudden but not unexpected – Keith knew Lance was close – and Keith changes directions on a dime. He has no idea where he is or where he is going, all his instincts focused on staying ahead of Lance. Lance, who's almost on Keith's heels – so close at points that Keith swears he can hear his panting breaths behind him, loud enough to swallow the sound of Keith's.

Everything is narrowed down to flight or fight. His vision is erratic, moving from side to side, broad flashes of color as his brain instinctively filters out what is extraneous, what Keith doesn't need to know outside of survival. Sound feels muffled, except for the sound of his own beating heart, the breath burning in his lungs. The constant chant of _nonononono_ that rushes through his head.

A hand grabs at his waist, fingers scrabbling at the waistband. Keith lets out a yelp, twisting to the side, and books it harder. His chest aches to pull in oxygen, muscles trembling. Keith knows he's slowing, that Lance is going to take him down soon. He's just playing with Keith now; he could have tripped him a mile back and finished the game.

And then Keith realizes why Lance has let him run so long. All Keith can see in front of him is a huge chain link fence. A property boundary line. It's at least seven feet high, stretches indefinitely in both directions, into the forest. Keith doesn't stand a hope in hell of getting over it. He starts moving to the right, arcing around and away from the fence, back into the forest.

He gets a couple of hundred feet back inside when he realizes his error; realizes that Lance has been herding him this way all this time. Would have accounted for the fence, and Keith trying to get away from it. What has taken Keith precious minutes to navigate in an arc, Lance has ran in a straight line in moments. He's directly in front of Keith suddenly, waiting for him.

Keith swears; voice ragged and rough. He ducks to the side, but Lance is there, snagging at his pants. Keith goes down hard, onto his back in the plush grass and leaves, and he scoots backward on hands and feet in an attempt to get away. Lance grabs him by the ankle, pulls hard, and Keith is down on his back. He kicks out and Lance laughs, snatching at his wrists. Keith gets a knee under himself and turns, but Lance still has him by the ankle, his grip bruising as his fingers tighten. Now Keith's on his stomach, bare skin pushed into cool grass, and Lance is over him, knees pushing Keith's thighs apart. Keith's not going down easily, however, throwing an elbow back, connecting with the solid bulk of Lance's torso before Lance has a hand on his wrist and his pulling it behind his back, another pressing between his shoulder blades to push him down.

"Get off me!" Keith shouts, adrenaline making him frantic. He's been run down like an animal, hunted and captured, but he's not quite ready to quit yet. Not until Lance gets a hand in the waistband of the joggers and yanks them down, exposing his ass to the cool air of the forest.

"Fuck, you know how to make a man work for his money," Lance says conversationally. His breath is hot and rough, panting for air just like Keith is. He continues to pull at Keith's joggers until he's got one leg free, and then he flips Keith onto his back, pushing between his legs again, lifting one leg and lining up before Keith gets a moment to regroup.

As before, Lance isn't gentle about it. He pushes in, grabbing Keith by the waist and pulling him down onto his fat cock. He sinks in in one, smooth movement, all the way to the hilt. Keith lets out a cry and arches – it's not pain, Lance has fucked him open with his fingers so much already that the way is easy – it's the overwhelming feeling of being taken, consumed, owned so completely in one single motion. Lance is thick, and Keith's body still struggles to take it; his body simply not prepared for this much, this quickly.

"Come on, sweetheart, let me in," Lance murmurs. He pulls back and thrusts in again, and Keith struggles until Lance gets his hands pinned above his head. That lets Lance ride him higher, pins Keith to the ground harder. "Fuck, gonna punish you for running," Lance says, looking down at Keith. "I told you to stay put." His fingers tighten around Keith's wrists, and then he snaps his hips forward.

Keith lets out a cry, pleasure fizzing through his body. Lance's next thrust drags over his abused prostate, and Keith sucks in a breath, because he can't handle this, this consuming, violent pleasure. It's mixed together in a heady cocktail of adrenaline from the run, the thrill and terror of the chase, the fear of being caught and punished. It's not something Keith has ever experienced, his mind and body close to overloading. He struggles again, trying to get a wrist free. 

"That's it," Lance is cooing, tone of voice at odds with his actions. Every thrust pushes Keith closer to the edge. "Let's see those tears, darling. Show me how good you are. How well you fit around my cock. Fuck, I'm gonna keep you, lock you up where no one can find you."

"Please," Keith gasps out. He's not sure what he's asking for. If he's agreeing with Lance, if he's begging for release – ah, that's it. 

"So beg for it, then. You know the rules." 

Keith struggles again, uncaring of the fact he's pinned on Lance's cock. "Please," he whispers, voice breaking. He can't take any more; his body doesn't have anything left to fight with, his mind is fuzzy with pleasure, molded to Lance's every wish.

"Please, Lance, let me come."

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Lance grins at Keith. He releases Keith's wrists, gets a hand around Keith's cock, and starts stroking him in time with his thrusts. It doesn't take long before Keith's body locks up and he's coming in Lance's hand, ribbons of come painting his own heaving stomach. His climax is like nothing he's ever felt before, all consuming, obliterating all thought for a few moments as he floats in the aftermath. He goes lax immediately, body pliant beneath Lance's as Lance reaches his peak. He watches as Lance tips his head up, exposing his neck for a moment as he thrusts into Keith's unresisting body, eyes sliding shut as he releases with a bitten off cry of pleasure, flooding Keith's insides with his come.

Lance is beautiful. 

He's pushed Keith so far beyond his limits he's not sure where his new ones lay. He's broken Keith apart into pieces, soothed his jagged edges, worn them down, ready for Keith to rebuild himself into something new.

So this time when Lance pulls out, presses the cloth with chloroform over his mouth, Keith is unresisting. He stares into Lance's eyes, gaze never wavering, until his eyes close and consciousness vanishes in a thick swirl of darkness.

* * *

It's been about three hours since Lance got Keith back to the house and back into a bedroom. He'd had to trek about a mile with Keith's dead weight draped over his shoulders, which makes for one heavy package when you consider the muscle that Keith's packing under that lean frame. Maybe he should have thought this through a little more before he decided that this was the way he was gonna take things for Keith's final day. Still, it had gone off without a hitch, fortunately. Lance had had a hunch that Keith would be able to get himself out of the bathroom if he'd been given enough incentive, and he loves being proved right. With Keith in the mind state that Lance has cultivated over the weekend, it wasn't a hard push to turn a command into a suggestion, and then an imperative. Keith had simply followed along, mindfuck firmly still in place.

And holy shit, when Keith had run… it's so rare to find someone willing to play the kind of games Lance likes. Lance had been about as wound up as Keith clearly was; when he'd finally tracked Keith down, hunted him to ground, and had him underneath him, _Jesus_. Lance had had a hard time keeping it together long enough to get Keith off, let alone trying to stay in character. He's pretty sure his dom personality slipped a little at the end, there.

Still, all good things must end, and Keith is about due to come out of the chloroform fog Lance had put him in.

He kneels next to the bed where he's placed Keith. This is a different room; Lance knows at this point that Keith associates 'his' room with captivity and the kidnap, and Lance needs to draw a clear line for Keith that the scene is over. As it stands right now, anything Lance tells him is likely to be taken by Keith to be part of the mindfuck and/or scene, which puts Lance in a delicate situation. He's gonna have to use Keith's safeword – not something he usually does to end a scene at its natural conclusion, but this makes sense to do so here.

"Hey, Keith?" Lance strokes his fingers gently through Keith's thick hair, soothing him. Bringing him back slowly. "Keith, I need you to wake up for me, babe." He's not going to call him sweetheart; that endearment belongs as part of the scene. _Babe_ is something he's not used before; it's safe.

Keith shifts, rolls to the side and flickers his eyes open. As soon as he focuses on Lance, he's moving, scooting back in a shot until he's pressed against the wall. 

"Hey, scene's over, you can relax." Lance focuses on keeping his voice steady, soothing. He raises his hands, not moving. "You with me, Keith?"

Keith shakes his head, eyes moving as he takes in the change of room. Changing the room is never a good thing to a person held captive, so Lance is quick to say, "Altea."

As soon as Keith hears his safeword he freezes, blinking his eyes before he relaxes a little.

"Lance?" Keith's voice is rough from the chloroform. "Is this – is this real? Are we really done?"

Lance stands up slowly, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. He doesn't want to loom over Keith, or use any sort of dominant body language until his client is settled. "This is real, Keith," he adds. "The scene is over. You can relax." He waits a few moments for Keith to start to assimilate the change of pace. "Do you want me to draw you a bath, or do you want to just rest for a moment?"

Keith bites his lip. Lance has familiarized himself with what Keith likes for aftercare, knowing he likes a bath and then a massage before he falls asleep. Pretty standard stuff, but Lance wonders if that's enough for a scene this intense, this long.

Keith meets his eyes, running a hand through his own hair. "Can I – can you hold me for a while?" Keith asks shyly.

"Of course." Lance isn't going to say no to that. "How do you want me?"

Keith moves forward, sliding into the enclosure of Lance's arms. Lance shifts until he can lean against the headboard, letting Keith sink further into his embrace. Keith sighs heavily, seemingly content.

"_Thisisgood_," he mumbles, and Lance grins.

Minutes pass in silence, Lance stroking softly through Keith's hair and down his spine in long, slow sweeps, focusing on keeping things relaxed, calm. He feels Keith shift a little, until Keith can look up at Lance. "Can I ask a question?" Keith says. "You don't have to answer if you don't want – I get privacy and everything."

Lance quirks an eyebrow. "Um, sure? I'll do my best if I can answer your question."

Keith pauses, and now Lance is super curious. "Can I ask what your real name is?" Keith bites his lip.

Lance bursts out laughing. "Lance _is_ my real name."

"For real? No way." Keith's eyebrows rise until they are almost in his hairline. "I thought you were totally going for supervillain vibes at the start of all this. No offence," Keith tacks on the end, clearly trying not to grin.

"I would be insulted, but I've heard all this before from my friends, so…" Lance smirks. "Are you ready for a bath? And then maybe a massage and some food?"

Keith lets out a soft sigh. "Yeah, all that sounds good. And then sleep."

Lance nods. "If that's what you want to do, all part of the package. Then I'll drive you home tomorrow morning."

"Perfect weekend," Keith says, letting out another content sigh. "Thank you, Lance. For everything."

"It's been my pleasure," Lance replies.

He means every single word of it.

* * *

**Two Months Later**

Lance has just closed the florists shop for the day. He's set the lock, swept the floor, and is in the process of gathering a bunch of juniberry to put into some water overnight. That's when he hears a shrill, high pitched sound coming from the back room. He drops the flowers into the nearest bucket, and heads into the back, pulling off his apron. Just as he takes it off, the alarm stops and his phone rings.

"Hey Pidgey, what's going on? What set off the alarm?" He pushes the phone into its terminal, and the screen pops up just above the phone, showing a larger than life Pidge and Hunk standing behind her. He's grinning like an idiot but pauses long enough to wave.

"Oh boy, that was the alarm for the Symthe House," says Hunk, barely keeping it together.

Lance frowns and then colors, remembering the last night he'd availed himself of the use of the place. "Um, okay so why are you telling me? I take it you dispatched the police to check it out?" Oh man, he hopes Coran isn't going to throw a nut if someone breaks in there. That place has been in his family for hundreds of years.

"No need to get the police involved." Pidge is typing furiously away on her computer, while Hunk stares over her shoulder. "I'm tagging this as more of a Lance Problem."

"Why is this a _'me'_ problem?" Lance throws himself onto the couch. "What did I do?"

Pidge looks up at Lance and raises an eyebrow to rival Lance's best. "You should watch the security feed," she deadpans. 

"Okay?" Lance scoots to the edge of the couch and grabs the video bite Pidge has placed as a thumbnail on his screen. He drags it to the center and pokes on it. It's time stamped just before the alarm went off, and shows a guy on a massive, very fast and expensive looking hoverbike parked just outside the gates to the house. He's leaning against the seat of the bike casually, wearing a red cropped jacket and aviator sunglasses, chewing gum. He crosses his arms for a second and then blows the biggest bubble Lance has ever seen, popping it a few seconds later.

"Okay, so that takes a lot of skill," Lance notes. "Wait – I recognize that guy!"

"Huh, no shit," Pidge adds.

_That guy_ would be none other than Keith Kogane.

Lance's favourite toy, ever.

The one person who had managed to blow Lance's mind just as much as Lance had blown his. That weekend had broken them both, reformed them into something fragile and new.

Keith leans forward and stretches, all his movements languid like a cat, calculated. He takes off his sunglasses and stares into the security camera, and as Lance watches he feels like Keith is staring directly at him – hundreds of miles and only minutes of time separate this recording from now – but Lance feels it like a livewire, a prickle of sensation trickling down his spine and settling pleasantly in his belly like arousal and excitement all mixed up together.

Keith's mouth quirks up at the corner, sensual and sure. He winks. Reaches behind him and pulls out a large pad of blank paper and a sharpie and starts to write. He pauses, turns the pad to the camera for a few seconds:

_Hey Sweetheart  
Let's play Hide & Seek_

He takes back the pad, flips the paper, and continues.

_Usual safeword_

Another pause to write:

_Winner takes everything_

Keith smirks at the camera.

_See you soon, <3_

Keith blows a kiss at the camera, and stands up. He reaches into a storage compartment on the hoverbike and pulls out a pair of heavy duty bolt cutters, which he uses to break the lock on the gate. The lock falls to the dirt and Keith pushes open the gate. He steps back to the hoverbike and starts the engine, revving it, before climbing on and driving the bike down the driveway toward the house, until he disappears from the camera's view.

_Oh shit_, Lance thinks, pulse rocketing along with his excitement. _Winner takes all._ Keith wants to _play_.

"Um, do I have a client this weekend?" Lance asks.

"Good job there on trying to remain casual but failing hard, buddy," Hunk says, giving a thumbs up. "But no, you are clear."

"And… any chance someone could ta – "

"I suddenly find myself with nothing to do this weekend, so I have decided to take your shift at the florist," Pidge cuts in, voice brooking no argument, even if the statement seems a little rehearsed. "Go clear up your mess before Coran finds out."

"Roger that." Lance gives them both a casual salute and a shit-eating grin. He stands up, stuffing his wallet into his pocket and searching for his keys. "I owe you both."

"Yeah, you do," Pidge says. "Go get him."


End file.
